


Deuces

by Cyrelia_J



Series: Garak/Bashir AUs [5]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Daddy Kink, F/F, Flirting, M/M, Mild Language, Romance, Slow Build, Some Humor, Tattoos, dating mishaps
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-15 20:47:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16940451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyrelia_J/pseuds/Cyrelia_J
Summary: AU/AR (no Dominion and some characters who died in the series are alive like Vedek Bareil) Garak and his surrogate daughter Ziyal find themselves on Deep Space Nine for a month on a stopover to Bajor. Garak is relieved to have a reprieve from what's sure to be certain death by the Bajorans, whereas Ziyal is anxious to continue with their trip to get more in touch with her Bajoran roots.And then Garak meets the sexy young Doctor Julian Bashir, and Ziyal finds that she's going to learn far more about herself on this unassuming little station than she'd ever imagined“Your daughter?” Doctor Bashir says feigning incredulity with little better believability as he sits down looking between them both. “You’re having me on, you couldn’t possibly be old enough to be her father.” He turns a smile to Garak and as tempted as Garak his to happily throw himself across Doctor Bashir’s lap, he can’t quite tell if it’s plain parental flattery or actual flirting. My, perhaps he is getting old...





	1. Shuffle the Deck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eilu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eilu/gifts).



> First migration from Tumblr to AO3. Was trying to avoid having my shame so publicly broadcast (I mean all my other WIPs haha) but here we are. This was a fun one to write and something I wanted to explore minus the overarching war drama. I really get into all the relationship/self exploration stuff and this was a good way to play with that.
> 
> I'll add more warnings a I go and it may get more explicit so we'll see, but thank you all for reading and C&C is always welcome!

I: Shuffle the Deck

 

“Yad’ he’s coming over here.” Ziyal’s excitement is palpable as she looks at him over her sketchpad. Her mouth doesn’t move as she speaks the words through her smile. Parmak was the one to originally teach him the skill “a boorish Northern affectation” that proved invaluable in his work, and he never understood such prejudicial nonsense from his fellows that it would keep them from adopting something useful. (“Uncle Kelas” may have also been a handy babysitter and confidante when Garak needed one.) Garak is so terribly proud of how far Ziyal has come with her lessons; Tain himself couldn’t read her lips. 

 

Elim Garak, former Obsidian Order Agent had not imagined when he was given the choice of exile on Terok nor as a tailor of all things, or nursemaid to his most hated enemy’s bastard daughter, that he would become so thoroughly enchanted by his young charge. His first year of guarding both her and her mother Tora Naprem was one of the most trying of his life and he’d often caught himself with a sewing needle full of murderous thoughts and what ifs. But when her mother had died, Garak was all that Ziyal had between Gul Dukat’s infrequent trips. It pleases him to think that Ziyal regards him as much more a father than that arrogant slag sucker.

 

Dukat had finally deigned to allow “his Ziyal”(as if there were any part of her that was his beside the unavoidable!) to study “art”, art being a much more palatable presentation than the derelict tattoo artistry she’d mastered. Vedek Bareil, a thankfully open minded man had gladly offered them a home while they settled in but it seemed they would require a temporary homesty elsewhere for the next month while that was finalized. Garak had expected if anything to be stoned by primitive Bajoran natives upon their arrival but the detour to the current Federation occupied Deep Space Nine and former Terok Nor has at least provided a blessed stay on that execution. Garak said a prayer to the Ancients that he’d have another month to keep his head. Ziyal had told him he was overreacting. They agreed to disagree on that point and Garak endeavored to at least keep his defensive skills prepared.

 

Garak hadn’t thought there would be much excitement to had on that layover, but oh was he ever wrong. Nothing could have prepared him for the delectable specimen of a doctor who’d introduced himself during their brief arrival guidelines, letting them know that he and his helpful group of nurses would see to all their needs should they require his services. Somehow Ziyal- damn observant girl!- had caught Garak’s less than discreet once over of said delectable doctor and teased him about it with their old hand signals during the course of the tour. 

 

Oh to be sure, Garak could imagine a pleasant fling that would have few strings attached, but he too was observant and he noticed that Ziyal’s eye lingered a bit longer than it had on the other men and women they’d met on their trip so far. Now Garak was just as protective as any murderous interrogator turned surrogate father, but Ziyal was more than old enough at twenty two to know her own mind and if say she happened to become smitten with a certain Federation doctor and that affection was returned in a manner which prolonged their stay well then as the Bajorans would says it was merely the will of the Prophets.

 

So when Ziyal makes that announcement Garak swears on the State that he will do everything in his power to be nothing but a doting father [far too old for a luscious young human doctor to ever give a second look to] and not even  _ think _ about the taste of that lovely tanned skin.

“Good morning,” Doctor Bashir says to both of them quite boisterously. Garak waits for Ziyal to look up first but she’s looking at him instead. Oh dear. “I hope I’m not intruding,” he continues, “But I like to introduce myself a little more personally to the new residents of the station- even temporary ones. I’ve always found that it helps put people at ease.” He has a lovely smile and he’s completely full of it but Garak isn’t completely sure to which of them the doctor’s poorly hidden romantic overture is directed. Statistically speaking Ziyal would be the more likely but Garak’s been surprised far too many times on their adventures to take anything for granted.

 

More the better for him!

He really needs to suppress those thoughts.

 

“Well now this is an unexpected but pleasant surprise!” Garak exclaims supposing it won’t hurt anything to take the lead for a moment to try and get a little more information. “Doctor Bashir, is it?” Doctor Bashir nods at that and Garak continues, indicating the empty seat between the two of them. “Please, have a seat. I can assure you you’re not interrupting anything. My name is Garak. and my daughter Ziyal and I were just enjoying a spot of breakfast and the atmosphere of the station. She’s a fantastically talented artist you know and they say that a true genius can find inspiration anywhere.” There now, that’s a perfectly nice endorsement without seeming like some country yob trying to foist his plain middle child off on a wandering merchant. 

 

“Your daughter?” Doctor Bashir says feigning incredulity with little better believability as he sits down looking between them both. “You’re having me on, you couldn’t  _ possibly _ be old enough to be her father.” He turns a smile to Garak and as tempted as Garak his to happily throw himself across Doctor Bashir’s lap, he can’t quite tell if it’s plain parental flattery or actual flirting. My, perhaps he  _ is _ getting old.

“You flatter me doctor, but while we Cardassians wear our age well, I’m certain that I’m old enough to be  _ your _ father as well.” Ouch that admission stings. Ah, the things one must do for family…

“You’re always so quick to put yourself down, yad’.”  _ Read the cues, read the cues,  _ Garak silently begs. “Maybe that was his way of saying he finds  _ me _ old.”  _ Oh my dearest Ziyal, he’s a human, you can’t flirt with him like a Cardassian.  _ Either he’s taught her too well or she’s spent far too much time on Cardassia Prime. True to Garak’s assessment, Doctor Bashir looks a bit taken aback, and his charming and awkward attempt to correct what be must surely believe to be some sort of cultural  _ faux pas _ would be amusing if it weren’t getting in the way of progress.

 

“She’s just teasing you, doctor,” Garak assures him with a hand to his shoulder that nearly makes him jump, and well he wasn’t intending any significance there but well, the more put off by Garak he is, the better for her. “Be nice, Yaya,” he says using the nickname Ziyal had given herself as a young child when she couldn’t quite say her own name properly. It’s their subtle signal that she needs to act more Bajoran. She catches on right away.

“Yes! I was just teasing you, Doctor Bashir.” Good, she looks like she more at ease now- she’s always preferred to catch regova with sweet berries as the saying goes. The two of them share a quick look to see who would be better making the proposal. They don’t need to say much, each of them weighing the pros and cons quickly. Guls, Garak hopes this human has an intellect worthy of her! Ziyal sits back just a bit, subtly adjusting her upbraided hair and Garak takes his cue.

 

“You’ll find that we Cardassians, even those of us who are half Bajoran enjoy a little banter amongst friends. Really, there’s so much that we can learn from each other. Though if you absolutely feel that you must make it up to her, I’m sure that Ziyal would be happy to teach you more over dinner.” Garak makes that proposition, sitting back, letting Ziyal feign embarrassment at that. Really, he’d almost feel bad for Doctor Bashir as his eyes get wide and he realizes how nicely he’s been set up.  _ Right, doctor. You wouldn’t want to be insulting to her father now would you? _ Garak imagines this isn’t the first time that Doctor Bashir has found himself in this scenario and he almost thinks given that he’d be better at extricating himself if that wasn’t what he truly-

 

“Actually,” Doctor Bashir says with a breath and a clearing of his throat that surprises him; Garak wasn’t expecting a demur of any sort, after all. “While I’m ah flattered I’m afraid that I em...” He doesn’t seem particularly smooth and Garak almost feels bad. Almost. “The truth is,” Doctor Bashir says with a strangely intense look at him and Garak catches a small smirk from Ziyal, “I was hoping that I might take  _ you _ to dinner, Mister Garak.” Garak blinks at that honestly stunned, and he sees Ziyal’s enthusiasm on his behalf poorly hidden behind her hands. Well, they can continue working on that as well, he guesses- but as for the... incredibly sexy doctor who apparently has taken her glee as some sort of go ahead...

 

“Oh it’s not Mister, just Garak,” he answers stupidly, actually at a loss for words. He feels her lightly kick him under the table and alright, so no marrying off Ziyal to forestall his doom this time around isn’t going to pan out but well, if this is to be his consolation prize for a certain death on Bajor in a month he can certainly think of worse things. Garak does decide to play just a bit coy with him.

“I really  _ am _ old enough to be your father, Doctor Bashir,” he says as a token protest knowing that humans can be funny about things like that.

 

“You can call me Julian,” Julian answers with a brief look to Ziyal before continuing with his next words. He offers her a bit of an apologetic look that hardly concerns her and he looks to be gearing up to say something particularly scandalous as he leans in naughty, whispering in Garak’s ear. “You may be old enough to be my father, Garak. But I’d rather you be my “daddy”.” Which is a hell of a thing to risk the universal translator getting right, but Julian uses the exact right words necessary for them to filter properly. Which means this definitely isn’t his first time doing this. Garak’s eyes are rather wide with a wondrous glaze to them as Julian sits back looking rather proud of himself. Ziyal is shooting him a look like details are going to be in demand in the future and there is  _ no way _ , grown woman or not he is ever breathing a word. 

 

“Dinner at Quark’s?” Julian asks looking far too smug. Garak opens his mouth, realizes that it’s somehow stopped working and says a silent prayer to the Bajoran Prophets when Ziyal picks up right where he needs her most.

 

“I promise, Doctor Bashir. He’ll be there.”

 


	2. Knights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garak and Julian get ready for their respective dates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before everyone gets too excited, I don't write this fast, just adding up to the current chapter as I get the edits done XP
> 
> Once this gets caught up it may be a wait >_>;

“Are you going to tell me what the handsome doctor whispered to you yad’, or am I going to have to audit you?” Ziyal’s works the oil into the scales of his bare shoulders firmly. One of her fingers is already insinuating itself behind a sensitive spot near his shoulder blade making Garak twitch. She knows all of his weaknesses. The “audit” is the euphemism he used to use for his previous occupation’s primary function when she was younger. It strangely grew to mean a nerve rending tickle torture between the two of them to get answers to silly inconsequential questions. Garak looks ahead stoically. He absolutely refuses to break this time.

“Though I may owe you a debt of gratitude, my dear I assure you that I will not crack even under the worst torture.” He can feel her making a childish face behind him. It certainly won’t help her case but they both know that there are particular aspects of Garak’s dates and relationships that he prefers to keep private. She in turn, refuses to this day to tell him exactly what had gone on between her and that wild child Rugal behind the back wall of the garden.

 

Ziyal flicks one of the ridges of his neck.

“Fine. But I’m not going to tell you anything that Major Kira and I talk about tonight either.” She absolutely will, but Garak allows her that moment, relaxing as she rubs more warm oil between hers hands and starts carefully working the scales of his back. The oil is a careful blend designed to make ones’ scales shimmer majestically while not ruining the delicate fabric of the underlining of his shirt. Ziyal insisted that he wear the dark red silk with the high neckline.  _ “Better to give him a lot to wonder about, right?” _ Garak had agreed when he saw it coupled with the dark black pants she suggested. They were a touch immodest but then again with Julian’s incredibly forward invitation modesty is hardly his main priority. 

 

“I suppose that leaves us at an impasse,” Garak declares dramatically. Ziyal laughs softly behind him. He’s seated on the bed with her kneeling at his back rubbing the oil excitedly like she used to when she was younger. His first date since becoming her adopted father years ago was a mess of nerves and he’d nearly pulled something, causing an awful ruckus trying to reach every spot himself. She’d come in fourteen, snippy, but still such a sweet girl deep down finally offering to help. When she went out with Rugal- a privileged misfit like herself, Garak’s intel had revealed- a short  _ chaperoned _ time later, Garak had returned the favor. He also learned the proper high fashion styles for pinning up her hair. She learned his as well and even convinced him to let her tint his  _ chufa  _ a daring blue when he was feeling particularly lucky. He’s asked her to do it tonight as well. It’s a ritual that’s been going on more than half her life and Garak thinks sometimes that he’s going to miss it whenever that inevitable end comes.

 

But he doesn’t allow that melancholy to overtake him. He’s looking forward to an exciting evening, though he has a hunch that Julian may have played some small part in the Bajoran Officer Kira’s sudden invitation to show Ziyal around the station and tell her more about Bajor.  _ Yes, doctor, I’m sure the busy Major Kira would absolutely take a precious free evening to play hostess to a station guest she’s never met before.  _ Garak has learned though, rough lesson that it’s been, not to question good fortune: at least not terribly much. His head lurches forward and he hums contentedly when Ziyal’s hands reach the small of his back. He won’t look tonight, their quarters not having a suitable array of mirrored surfaces, but he can imagine the picture of brilliant color that will display when she finishes.

 

Ziyal is an artist, though not entirely of sculptures and paintings. She developed a fascination with the permanent Cardassian scale dying or what he’s learned the humans and Bajorans call “tattoo artistry” or some variant. Garak had thought it a bit strange at first, but he saw the beautiful works that she was able to create with pen and ink and when she told him in earnest that she wanted to learn how to put her picture permanently on the body so people could hold the it forever, well he just had to go and find an enterprising artist to teach her. Tarn Belor had been hesitant at first to teach such precious cultural tradition given her obvious lineage but Garak could be nothing if not convincing. So she had learned with care, practice, her first serious pieces done both on the insides of her own forearms. Both Garak and Tarn thought she was out of her mind but she insisted that if she could manage it on her own body while under the duress of the small laser injections to permanently alter the scale pigment then she could to it to anyone. She was right.

 

Garak was her first big project after seeing with wonder the small symbol of Bajor, the Cardassian union, and her mother’s face. He bears one of her most beautiful and intricate pieces on his back: a stunning view of the beach outside their home viewed through a copse of vivid trees. He has several other tattoos that she’s down for him since on his arms and chest as well but that remains his favorite. Dukat had felt- as he could hardly allow his enemies to know that Ziyal was his own daughter- that the last lush rainforests of the Morfan Province were best suited to remind his beloved Tora Naprem of Bajor and give Ziyal a small taste of the other home she might someday know. Garak had supposed if he were already doomed to the stigma of having a Bajoran “wife” and “child” as his cover that the lovely scenery was the least that they could pay him with. Only the three of them and Enabran Tain himself knew her true father, and well as far as Garak is concerned-

 

“I’m going to do your hair now, yad’,” Ziyal informs him crawling off the bed to get the brushes and the hair slick. Garak smiles at her, thinking she looks more excited than he is, but he understands. Charity or no, Major Kira is doing Ziyal an immeasurable favor in indulging all her questions and curiosity for the night. He stands, putting the undershirt on first, then overlaying the red silk already having gotten a feel for the chill temperature of the station. He imagines it must have been far warmer when it was still Terok Nor.  _ Oh but surely, Julian should be warm enough for the both of you. _ Garak’s smile turns a bit wicked at that thought. Julian’s little tease had played so immediately to the exact sort of fun that Garak is looking to have. And that lovely boy looked more than game for it..

 

Garak sits back down seeing Ziyal rush out with both the oil and clay, a brow ridge moving at the sight of both. Just how strong a hold does she think his hair is going to need on a first date? She grins at him not quite innocently.

“Like you always say, it’s better to be prepared than to find yourself in a group of your enemies without a sharp knife.” He supposes he  _ has _ said that on more than one occasion and he wonders if he shouldn’t have at least tried for a more traditional upbringing.  _ Well hardly the time to have doubt about it all now, Elim. _

“Do you really think I’ll need a knife too, Yaya?” he asks, shutting his eyes as her fingers start combing oil through his hair and over his scalp. He can tell even behind him that her nose is making that precious little wrinkle.

 

“Ah! You win. I don’t need to know  _ everything _ about your date tonight.” His throat vibrates with a low rumble of amusement as Ziyal continues to work following that exaggerated exclamation of parental sex picturing disgust. Garak isn’t quite sure what future a half Cardassian tattoo artist and a former Obsidian Order spy turned tailor are going to have on Bajor, but Garak guesses as Ziyal has been saying the adventure lies in the mystery. “Still,” she continues cheerfully and Garak knows that he’s nurtured her curiosity far too well from childhood. “We don’t choose the truth that we’d like to hear, but sit as willing ears when it spills from the vessels we nurture.” Such a pretty euphemism for such a cruel profession and she recites it back like one of Tolan’s old Hebetian proverbs. Guls, Julian better watch out if this becomes serious!

 

\---

 

“So are you gonna ask him he he wants to give Cindy a kiss?” Miles O’Brien sits lazily on the couch in Julian’s quarters half reading the latest report from Engineering on the PADD. Julian pokes his head out of the bathroom momentarily to answer him.

“Absolutely not! Are you mad? I have to stick to the script, Miles!” 

“Aw, c’mon Julian, why don’t you mix it up a little? That’s what you ask all your  _ other _ conquests, isn’t it?” Julian takes a step out having already switched from the light blue button down, to the white linen, to the gray “second skin” and back again. 

“That was one time!” he protests a bit too loudly. He’s at least settled on the pants; they’re his favorite ultra slim stretch black number that settle low on his hips. In spite of what Miles says he  _ has _ hips they’re just a bit well... slim.

 

“Can’t see it should matter much, those Cardies move fast for fresh meat. You and that last fella almost closed the place down, didn’t ya? And that was before you even finished the program.” Miles makes a sour face at that, having had the misfortune of witnessing a good part of that whole thing. Cindy had made an appearance for that one too. Cindy, being the infamous tattoo that Julian has on the inside of his right thigh. She’s quite lovely, really. He still isn’t quite sure of how the two of them came to form their unlikely partnership. 

 

The accounting varies widely depending on which old classmate of his he asks and even then on the occasion and the party the story is being relayed for. One account has a twenty three year old Julian getting the elaborate piece on a bet. Another has him doing it as part of a dare to impress a beautiful Betazoid classmate. Yet a third- and his personal favorite- involves a Klingon rite of passage, blood wine, and two Andorran girls fighting over him. The commonality in all the accounts is that he was completely trashed and woke up the next morning with a burning inner thigh thinking he’d scored something fierce only to come face to face with Cindy.

Julian isn’t sure why “Cindy” and no one has ever been able to fill in that part of the mystery. All he knows is that his right thigh bears a stunning rendition of a young blonde human women with blue eyes and a pretty red pout puckering up for a kiss. As ludicrous as the tattoo is, it’s quite breathtaking in its detail and Julian decided in the end to keep her as a valuable life lesson. He may have also in his more stupid (read: also drunk) moments tried and kiss her himself, finding in the process that he’s a great deal more flexible that he’d thought. That’s proven useful on some of his more enduring dry spells. He hopes Garak appreciates it. The “last fella” to which Miles refers was another in a long line of Guls and Glinns named Mekor, who absolutely appreciated it though what he appreciated most was Julian’s ability to play the dance, and Julian calling him “sir”.

 

“Yes... well...” Julian turns his head with a scratch of his neck not wanting to revisit that embarrassing night when Captain Sisko had shook his head like he was lecturing Jake and just told him to go sleep it off. “Cardassian may appreciate a certain order but it never hurts to put one’s best foot forward. It’s ah… been a second since Gul Mekor was here. You know how it is when you’re not going to see your partner for awhile.” Julian gives a bit of a tease back. Miles had been unbearable when Keiko was on Bajor, “enjoying the bachelor life” or not, there were some types of single excursions that they couldn’t exactly share. Julian was pretty sure if she’d been gone any longer Miles would have started rubbing on the furniture.

 

“Yeah, and speaking of Keiko, if I wanted to watch someone running around throwing clothes all over I could go back home.”

“Don’t you still have to get ready?” Julian asks in complete earnest. Miles draws himself up looking just a touch offended.

“And what’s wrong with what I already got on?” Julian looks at him sitting there in his uniform. Miles had initially stopped by to ask Julian if he might be able to look after Molly while the two enjoyed a couples’ evening. Julian had apologized letting him know as he tried to sort through three pairs of shoes that Miles swore all looked the same that he’d love to but he already had plans. Miles had taken one look at him, his quarters and with a dramatic sigh shook his head. When Julian asked him about it he pressed a mock hand to Julian’s forehead and declared that Julian may be the doctor but Miles knew a sure case of “Cardie Fever” when he saw it. Alright, so he wasn’t exactly entirely  _ wrong _ about that one but still.

 

“Nothing it’s just well... it’s your uniform,” Julian points out brilliantly.

“It’s clean!”

“Right yes but it’s ah...”

“Jeez!” Miles says throwing his hands up. “You oughta be standing here with my wife instead of me, it’s like talking to a mirror of her tonight!”

“You clean up quite nicely,” Julian offers apologetically. Miles grumbles as he swipes down on the PADD.

“Yeah, s’too late for flattery. ‘m sure the both of you are in it together. You don’t look so bad yourself,” he says by way of peace offering. Julian looks down not sure if it’s quite the look that he wants to convey. Not with the proposition that he’d made. He doesn’t want to look too young either but he’s hardly trying to project an air of stiff buttoned up doctor so...

 

“Thank you! So... er... skin or skin tight?” he asks thinking that Jadzia might give a better opinion but then again all the station would know that “Doctor Bashir is on another lizard hunt.” So help him if he ever finds the person who coined that irritating phrase…

“You can’t do both?” Miles asks giving what Keiko might call in exasperation an “uncivilized unhelpful” opinion. Maybe Julian  _ should _ drop in on Keiko. Then again, if she’s in half the dire fashion straits that he is then that would hardly be fair. No, he’s just going to have to trust his instincts on this one. The blue button down- with a few buttons down- it is.

“Right, no. I think this will have to work.” Julian isn’t quite certain how far this will go in one night, but he’s an eternal optimist and he needs to get a start on straightening his quarters just in case. Well perhaps an optimist with a touch of schemer thrown in seeing as how he’d promised Kira anything she wanted if she could find it in her heart to keep a lonely half Bajoran girl company and ease some of her fears about seeing home for the first time.

 

Kira is a saint, Julian decides, and Miles is... taking up space on a sofa that he needs to clean. Perhaps he’ll get the hint if Julian just starts and saves the thing for last. 

“So ya think he’s some sort of spy?” Miles asks suddenly making Julian stop.

“A what? A spy? Oh come  _ on _ , Miles, he’s just a man taking a trip with his daughter.”

“Two Cardies going to Bajor?” he replies skeptically.

“A  _ Cardassian _ man and his half Bajoran daughter,” Julian corrects. He hadn’t been able to stay and chat much longer before his shift had started, but Ziyal had let him know that her father was a rather talented tailor and he was making a terribly noble sacrifice in uprooting his entire business so that she could see and experience her other home. She said that he wouldn’t dream of just sending her off into the wild and god, that protectiveness was just all sorts of sexy. It was obvious he adored her, obvious he was a man with an eye for detail, for beauty and those  _ hands _ .

 

“You got that look, Julian,” Miles notes and he’s not quite sure what “look _ ”  _ that’s supposed to be. “That kinda funny “daydreaming about your date” look”, Miles finishes like he’s just read his mind. Julian clears his throat as he picks up a few more shirts.

“Well, I do,” he says with what Keiko calls his “ _ shouganai _ shrug” (it can’t be helped!). Miles rolls his eyes and actually has the good grace to extricate himself from the sofa and head towards the door. 

“Yeah yea, I know. Better make myself scarce before you  _ really _ start going on about him.”

“Saving that for after the date right,” Julian answers with a cheeky grin.

“Right, make sure you tell me all about it. Every last detail.” Heavy on the sarcasm. Julian laughs and Miles claps him sincerely on the shoulder. 

  
“Have a good time, Julian,” He says making his exits to a few brief goodbyes. Julian supposes that he  _ does _ perhaps have that far off day dreamy look to him but if Miles had seen those eyes, those hands, that thick body, that strong grip and the way Garak’s eyes darkened so nicely when he called him “daddy”... Okay yeah, he still wouldn’t get it because he’s Miles O’Brien and not Julian Bashir hopeless “daddy lizard queen” as Jadzia calls him between the two of them but that’s neither here nor there.  Julian’s getting goosebumps just thinking about his date and he hurries up with his cleaning. After all, he wouldn’t want Garak to think that he’s not a good boy. At least not yet!


	3. Kicks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ziyal makes a few missteps while on tour and an unexpected confrontation with major Kira makes her think of her past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't often write a lot of interaction like this and I'm not sure how successful it was but well, that's part of what I love about this fic.
> 
> Still working on edits to post the stuff completely til now. (I don't know if it's better or worse to just try and get it all up quickly or space it out for people O_o) I've had a to retcon a few minor bits of detail and dialogue from the original Tumblr version since I've been sort of making it up as I go haha

Ziyal’s back hits the mat again and she can feel the soreness in her arms as the shadow of Major Kira falls over her. She’s gone down more times than she can count growing more frustrated. She doesn’t understand why- she’s had a lifetime training with her yad’ and she’s fought so man men stronger, bigger, more experienced.  _ But not “weaker”, not faster, not more flexible.  _ That was the difference Kira had told her when she approached the first time, her stance one of a woman used to fighting men with a physical advantage. She was having trouble adjusting to fighting Kira and the lesson kept being driven back repeatedly. It was frustrating her and that frustration was making her reckless. Yad’ would be so disappointed.

 

Ziyal is sweeping this time out of desperation, executing a quick tangle of legs thinking if she can just get them both to the ground there’s a chance that she can turn this around. She feels her leg catch and she isn’t as fast as she was when the first round began but neither is Kira and it’s fast enough for the trip to work. Ziyal is breathing heavy but she’s drilled this over and over with her yad’ enough times that she’s forcing her tired body to move to get top position. She’s met with Kira’s leg brought up, pushing hard to her midsection the kick momentarily knocking the breath from her as she lands on her back again.  _ Wait for it, my dear. Sometimes you have to wait for them to come to you.  _

 

Ziyal swallows feeling the adrenaline still surging through her not knowing that she has anything left but knowing that she just  _ has _ to win this one. Her yad’ would say that it’s wise know one’s own strengths, to know when evasive action needs to be taken, when to run. He’s always told her that Cardassians don’t sing songs to favor the bold as Klingons but rather cunning. He’s reminded her time and again that the reason he’s taught her to fight is so that she should never need it, so that she has another useful tool to survive. 

 

Survival, he says must always be her first priority. She’s said to him more than once that survival should be  _ their _ priority and that she wouldn’t ever put her life before his. He always sighs and tells her she’s hopeless. But he always says it while hugging her tight. Her yad’ makes her feel safe: on Cardassia Prime where the purebloods cast disdainful stares in her direction, on the ship to the station full or stranger regarding her warily, and even on the station full of aliens she’s never seen before. Ziyal has learned everything from him, though as she and Major Kira continue this strange sparring session, she begins to wonder if it isn’t just him who’s going to face adversity on Bajor. At least not if her tour earlier was anything to go by...

 

_ Ziyal had been enjoying the tour of the Promenade. She’d been to Cardassia City once and there was a certain majesty to it, but she’d never seen an indoor structure- a space station like this one, self contained and bustling with so many different people from the Alpha Quadrant. Kira had told her stories of the station’s conversion from Terok Nor to Deep Space Nine, and though she wasn’t a natural storyteller like yad’, Ziyal still found her recount of the events to be fascinating. It almost made her wish that she and yad’ could stay longer. One month hardly seemed enough time just to take in all the people and history of Deep Space Nine.  _

_ “There’s no reason you couldn’t visit once you’re settled in. We have a lot of visitors from Bajor, a lot of families who come and go. You could even come up with Vedek Bariel,” she suggested with a bit of a distant look in her eyes. _

 

_ Ziyal couldn’t believe the incredible coincidence when Kira had told her the two of them knew each other. And to hear Kira talk it was a great deal more than that as well. She was careful not to tease her about it though. Yad’ always said that a quick tongue should always expect to be met with a quick fist. That never seemed to stop him, though Ziyal was more inclined to hold her tongue so as not to hurt anyone’s feelings.  _

_ “I’m sure we’ll be back,” she said, walking slowly, taking note of a few empty spaces. She was having fun imagining them as galleries, as tattoo parlors, or even as clothing stores. “I think yad’ and Doctor Bashir might get along very well.” Kira’s expression didn’t quite mirror hers in mirth. Ziyal looked at her concerned. _

_ “I... wouldn’t let your father get too attached to Julian. He has a bit of a reputation,” she said. “I don’t like gossiping and Julian is really a very nice man but well he’s young.” _

 

_ Ziyal considered that and Kira didn’t look particularly comfortable talking about anything that personal.  _

_ “I think yad’ can handle himself,” she assured Kira, the two of them stopping to allow security pass into Quark’s. “And if he can’t I’m here,” Ziyal offered as a bit of a joke. She was half distracted as she watched some sort of altercation as a Ferangi stepped out from around the counter. “He’s worried about Bajor and how people might treat him...” Ziyal trailed off, eyes wide as the changeling security chief Odo seemingly appeared out of nowhere. “But that’s silly, everyone knows that Bajorans can’t...”  she stopped that, clearing her throat feeling incredibly foolish. “I’m so sorry, I don’t... I really don’t know what I was even saying.” Kira didn’t look angry exactly but her posture was stiff. _

 

_ “No, it’s fine, go on, you were saying?” Ziyal swallowed and hesitated. Yad’ was so much better in these sort of situations, she was forever putting her foot in her mouth. _

_ “Well it’s just that physically you know there are just... differences is all.” She was sure that wasn’t helping anything though Kira still wasn’t getting mad. _

_ “Differences?” Kira asked and Ziyal didn’t know what it was she wanted to hear. _

_ “Just... just a strength difference... that’s... that’s common knowledge that Bajorans aren’t as strong as Cardassians.” _

_ “Is it really?” Kira asked more amused now than anything else. “Is that what your father said?” And Ziyal knew that she was referring to yad’ and not the Other man but He was “father”. He was the face that came to her ugly and sneering.  _

_ “It’s a fact,” she said feeling a bit angry. It was a fact that she’d long accepted and Guls yad’ was right about the stubbornness of Bajorans! _

 

_ That thought alone nearly knocked the wind out of her not even knowing where it came from. Ziyal didn’t have ugly thoughts like that, did she? _

_ “Well if that’s how you feel then I hate to break it to you but that attitude isn’t going to get you very far on your trip.” _

_ “It’s not an attitude, it’s a fact. With all due respect, Major Kira. The Bajorans are brave, cunning, and good shots, but if it weren’t for their weapons and tactics-“ Oh... oh she was sounding just like her teachers at school and  _ _ she _ _ was the one who they looked at when saying such things.  _

_ “If it weren’t for, oh I can’t believe I’m hearing this!” Kira cackled. “Girl, you really have a lot to learn about where you come from.” She looked about to say something else but stopped and sighed. “You know what. You’re young.” _

 

_ “Don’t call me girl,” Ziyal protested feeling like she was being dismissed. She didn’t know where that anger, that resentment was coming from. “Do you... do you need me to prove it to you?” ‘What are you saying? Are you crazy? You can’t fight one of the station officers! Yad’ will kill you!’ _

_ “Are you... you want to  _ _ fight _ _ me?!” Kira asked incredulously. Ziyal immediately put her hands up. Yad’ taught her the best defensive position was hands ready but open to as no to appear threatening. This was an awful idea. _

_ “I wouldn’t want to hurt you,” she protested in earnest.  _

_ “You know what?” Kira said in a cheerful voice which was a strange reaction to have. “I think I know just the place to show you next on our little tour.” _

 

Gul Dukat, Skrain Dukat is her  _ father _ , or rather the man who makes her call him “father” with a big smile painted on her face. He’s the reason that she started this with a fury that surprised even herself. He’s the reason she’s continued to keep fighting even after losing every round until now. She hates him. She hates it even more that she can still feel his influence in her life. Skrain Dukat was a man who would visit her and her mother in some beautiful summer home with sweets, with toys, with pretty words for Tora Naprem. He would call her his most precious treasure as he sat her on his knee in one of her most extravagant dresses and told her how beautiful and sweet she was. Ziyal used to love it when “Father” would visit because it meant that her mother would be happy and she got to wear one of her beautiful “father” outfits. 

 

He was always telling her what a good girl she was, how much he adored her. And when Elim Garak, the nasty old man who always said spiteful things to her was forced on them as a bodyguard, Father always put him in his place. Father always gave it to him good because Ziyal hated him. Ziyal was so happy to have Father guarding her. She didn’t begrudge him his time away because he promised her that if he could he would be there. Ziyal believed him.

 

When her mother died, Father wasn’t there. He sent a message telling her how he wished that he could be there, how he grieved her mother and how he would see her soon. But he never came. Ziyal remembered crying herself to sleep clinging to that letter not understanding why her mother had to get sick. She screamed at Elim Garak that surely he was responsible. That surely he hated being there so much with two filthy Bajorans that he was happy to see them both dead. He wasn’t sorry that Tora Naprem was dead. He said as much. He told her that the two of them dead of causes beyond his control would be convenient. 

 

And then he held her and let her cry while she hit him, while she scratched at him, while she tried to stab him with her mother’s letter opener. He told her she was a strong child and that she had potential. No one had ever called her strong before. She helped with his bandages the next day. 

 

Father didn’t come back until nearly a year later. But he kept sending money and Garak was careful with it. Garak learned to cook, learned to sew, learned to keep the house for them both. He taught her the proper way of using a knife and bought her one of her own. He taught her how to defend herself with words as well. He said that it would please him to see her potential bloom, Dukat’s daughter or no. Father wasn’t pleased by that. It was Garak’s job to protect her and if he was doing it properly she wouldn’t need to know herself. Father stayed a week that time. Ziyal told him that it wasn’t necessary for him to be mean to Garak anymore; she said that she was sorry for causing him to be treated to poorly. Ziyal soon realized that Father had little interest in what she truly had to say to him. She realized that Father was only pleased with her when she behaved in a manner “befitting his daughter”. She realized that Father came around less when she didn’t make his stay pleasant.

 

Garak was always there. Garak was pleased when she outperformed her peers in school. He encouraged her when he saw her start to draw and paint. He said that the world had seen enough death in it. And then he told her about The Occupation and how she came to be born without all of Father’s flowery euphemisms. Garak told her that he himself was the sort of monster that shouldn’t easily be forgiven. She asked him if he had any children. When he said that he didn’t, she asked if he could call her his daughter in private as well. He was silent so long, refusing to answer for so many days that she was afraid he would leave, but he said at last that he would have no greater honor. 

 

Ziyal started to hate when Father would come to visit. She hated when yad’ would pull out one of the dresses that Father would send ahead of his arrival. Father didn’t think she was smart. Father didn’t think she was strong. Father only wanted her to smile prettily for him and tell him what a good Father he was. Yad’ was the one who taught her the necessity of deception then. Ziyal started calling Father “Dukat” when he wasn’t around.

 

It’s Dukat that she hears telling her know that no daughter of his would ever lose to a Bajoran. He’s never been good at hiding his prejudices and she’s always worked twice as hard to prove that she could be just as good as any pure Cardassian. Rugal had told her that when she went to Bajor she’d realize that she only needed to be herself and that neither of them were better or worse than the other. Yad’ had agreed, but she knew that even if he didn’t feel that she was lacking he still had those beliefs buried down no matter how well he hid them. He said that those raised on Bajor were primitive and backwards and while well meaning, thoroughly hopeless in a lot of cases. He also told her that she was likely better off listening to Rugal than him on the matter and told her that he’d still support her trip and go with her.  _ “Even though I promise you they’ll likely want to string me up like a taspar”.  _

 

She let him know with a smile that if that was the case it would be her turn to be the one protecting him. He didn’t have one of his usual glib answers to that except to say that she was the best daughter a man could ask for. Dukat was cloying and half dismissive as always and complained that he wouldn’t be able to visit her then. Ziyal felt a sense of relief that he ultimately supported her decision to go. He had told her of an enchanting Bajoran woman who he’d fallen for- conveniently forgetting he was still married to his wife Athra- and that revelation had resulted in a decrease in his visits. It hurt to know that she was neither Cardassian enough or Bajoran enough for him. Yad’ had said that if she truly wanted once they were off Cardassia Prime he might make a few connections to see if they could have the family registry officially changed. Dukat had insisted on the rouse for her safety but left her sire in a state of limbo in all the government paperwork. He refused to allow Garak to adopt her officially.

 

_ He won’t refuse now _ , she thinks, Kira following through to advance her position on top for the last few pulled practice strikes. Ziyal remembers her lessons, remembers yad’ saying that Bajorans have weak necks like humans. She grabs Kira’s arm, taking one blow to the body- pulled but still stinging- dragging it across as she throws her right leg up wrapping around Kira’s neck and quickly bringing her left up to close the hold. Yad’ said the choke is wasted on Cardassians but he taught it to her anyway. It makes a perfect triangle and she locks it tight, breathing hard, hating how she thinks of Dukat in that moment that she feels Kira tap. Ziyal doesn’t want to think of him in moments like these. Dukat didn’t teach her this. Dukat didn’t teach her anything and she shouldn’t... she shouldn’t want to do anything for him... Ziyal feels her eyes blurring, her nose hurting from the earlier punches she’d taken and she throws an arm over her eyes mortified for showing weakness like this.

 

“Hey,” she heard Kira’s voice, feeling her move, feeling the tears streaking down her face as her limbs become boneless all of a sudden in the warm room, the mat slick beneath her. She tries to stop; she really does. Ziyal doesn’t even know why she’s crying and that only makes it worse. 

“I’m sorry,” she says though not sure to who, the station lights above so bright in her eyes when she finally moves her arm. “I’m just...”

“C’mon,” she hears Kira say again, and though every muscle in her body aches like the Ancients, she sits up slowly, looking up. She doesn’t know what she expected to see when she does, but it isn’t the gentle smile that meets her or the hand that reaches out. 

 

And Kira helps her to her feet giving her a warm embrace she isn’t sure she deserves.

 


	4. Heartbreaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian's no fail date plan kicks into motion.

Keiko O’Brien is an absolute gift from the Prophets, Julian likes to say making use of local idioms, and if Miles doesn’t treat her properly Julian is totally going to steal her. That’s what he likes to tease, but she really is an intelligent and infinitely creative woman who has been invaluable in the success of what Julian likes to call his infallible first date sure thing holoprogram. Jadzia had at first referred to it playfully as “Julian’s Lizard Daddy Trap”. Keiko had then told the both of them about  _ gairaigo _ and how a lot of Japanese products to this day bear strange sounding names because of the fascination with borrowed words . She then showed them an old “family heirloom” that was something called a “bento box” with the odd combination of words “Crunky Ball Nude” elegantly scrawled across the top. She then said with a perfectly straight face that if Julian wanted to truly thank her for her contributions to the menu that he would call it nothing less than “Julian’s Delicious Lizard Delight Circus.”

 

The program now bears the innocuous file name of “JDLDC1”

 

The program in question is the ultimate product of love and devotion- and if he’s being frank, Julian’s attempt to streamline the “first date” into a happy efficient guarantee of success. It had taken the three of them – Jadzia, Julian, and Keiko – two years to complete with some degree of trial and error but it’s a masterwork. Julian had built it off of one of Recreational Station Hidalgo’s old modules of an exotic carnival and the three of them worked to modify every parameter to meet a certain taste; namely a certain Cardassian male taste, though Julian didn’t see that it wouldn’t appeal to most Cardassian as a whole with some modifications. 

 

Quark certainly seemed to think so. Going off Julian’s impressive track record in fact, he thought if Julian would let him copy it that it would net them both a tidy profit with the steady influx of Cardassians passing through the station. Julian wouldn’t hear of Jadzia and Keiko being left out but in the end he decided that he still wanted to get use out of it before it became public. 

 

Quark had asked sourly exactly how many more Cardassians he really needed to entertain as many as he had already. So perhaps Julian had developed a bit of a reputation- amazingly over the course of his time on station he’d gone from Deep Space Nine’s resident Ladies Man to resident Lizard Queen- but well, he still hadn’t quite found the one who he could really fall for. Well, alright, perhaps Julian had fallen for several dozen going by Miles’ count but they just weren’t quite it. There was still something missing there. And thus came in the holoprogram that made the entire process easier.

 

Jadzia had contributed to the majority of the attractions, the exotic animals on display, the rides, and the shows. Of course they’d been honed and refined over time with new data to account for Cardassian musical preferences, hearing, exceptional eyesight, differences in equilibrium, adrenal responses and the like and it was absolutely magnificent. He’d also managed to- with Miles’ persuasive help initially- “sweet talk” Gilora Rejal from the Science Academy into further assisting them during her periodic visits for research. She’d thought the idea was completely ridiculous at first, but as he laid out his ambitious plans and designs, she couldn’t help but throw in corrections where she saw improvements were needed.

 

By the end of it, both she and Jadzia had engaged in some fantastically heated debates on adjustments and turned out a marvel of engineering. Jadzia may have also slept with her which Julian was a tad envious of since Gilora was an enchanting woman. She’d warmed to Julian’s company once he’d finally stopped being so circumspect and polite and he corresponded with her regularly with her now to keep abreast of the latest news and current events on Cardassia Prime. She had a completely wicked and unforgiving wit and she also helpfully provided him with the best and most heated topics of debate that he took full advantage of using on his dates. Julian still wondered on occasion if he might not have a chance, but Jadzia was certain that it would never work.

 

Her associate, Ulani Belor had been curious as to their “secret” conversations and meetings though Julian didn’t know if she’d have an interest he’d explained the project to her as well. Their “colleague” Dejar had little interest in any of it and thought the lot of them were allowing themselves to get distracted by nonsense. Well, that was Julian’s introduction to the Obsidian Order and its operatives and he could say he’d be perfectly happy to go his entire life without dealing with another one of them. Ulani had taken interest in the food that Keiko had been working on. Julian hardly fancied himself a culinary expert- Miles once said he was pretty sure that Julian would ingest anything for the purposes of getting laid. But between the two of them they seemed to reach a perfect accord and marriage of both Cardassian and Earth tastes. 

 

Or rather it turned out that the Cardassian taste was particularly receptive to a lot of Japanese and other Southeast and East Asian foods not often represented in most Federation cultural exchanges. Both scientists declared after tasting the dango smothered in yamok sauce that if the Federation actually brought some real food with them, they might find more Cardassians to be receptive to their proposals. Keiko then wondered if the Vietnamese  _ balut _ that some back stalls still sold had would carry well over to regova eggs. It absolutely did and Ulani was happy to share some other Kardasi festival delights such as W’sai, Kori balls, and Nurot. Well, lacking a sense of taste or not, Julian was completely sold and it turned out, so was Legate Turrel when he was on the station during negotiations with Kai Winn and Vedek Bareil. Not that Julian is bragging, but he doesn’t think that Vedek Bareil had anything on  _ his _ negotiating skills.

 

Julian wasn’t sure how he’d felt about Captain Sisko subsequently designating him official head of the Cardassian welcoming committee, remarking with a perfectly straight face that he was pleased Julian had overcome his initial difficulties with showing foreign dignitaries around the station. Julian was sure there was some look that passed between him and Jadzia just then which made him pout just a bit before ultimately accepting incredibly graciously. He could hardly look a gift horse in the mouth. 

 

And he  _ was _ good at it, he found, his social life aside. Julian had grown quite adept at reading the necessary cues to avoid any embarrassing incidents (Kira still seemed crushed that Gul Dukat had no interest in him whatsoever though  _ Julian _ was hardly crushed by that realization as he found the man utterly insufferable) and learned which subtle ones to throw out when off duty to get a feel for the atmosphere as Keiko liked to say. Julian saved those little tricks for his dates though; no need to let on too early just how good he was at this game. Most of the men he dated seemed to prefer his “vapid twink doctor” bit anyway and he only employed the most subtle use of his Cardassian routine. He was terribly good at it. 

 

According to Quark as he enters the bar tonight, they were taking bets on which of the newest station arrivals Julian had his eye on. Quark informs him a bit sourly that he’d lost a good bit of latinum when he bet on the older doctor from Lacoria City. Rom on the other hand had picked the Tailor Garak right off the bat and is counting his winnings rather loudly at the bar. Quark snaps that they aren’t his winnings since “his woman” had to pick the candidate for him. Julian just smiles and shakes his head as he looks for Garak to make an entrance. Leeta knows his tastes so well. 

 

Julian had arrived exactly on time, neither early nor late knowing how Cardassians value punctuality. And what an entrance he makes. Garak looks absolutely luscious in the dark red silk shirt wrapped around him magnificently, showing off those broad shoulders and delectable thick waist.  _ And speaking of thick…  _ Julian is sure he must be drooling, looking at those impeccably tailored pants hugging thick thighs and Julian finds himself catching a discreet glimpse to the burnished old Bajoran sculpture that he’d donated to the bar out of generosity. 

 

Of course those in the Federation were renown for stupid gestures like that though Julian admitted to Quark that if he would be so kind as to perhaps place it say along the one wall near the first floor entrance where Julian might make use of it for “observational purposes” he might say that he owed Quark a favor during one of Odo’s subsequent “witch hunts”. Quark hadn’t needed more than a month before he called that favor in and Odo hardly seemed amused by his accidentally spilling a drink on the “Odo in a jar” that he’d assumed the guise of to replace Quark’s actual one. Julian really does love the sculpture. 

 

Especially now that the flat, reflective surface is giving him the most stunning view of Garak’s ass that he could have imagined. Julian usually prefers bottoming but for an ass like that he’s more than willing to be flexible. …In more ways than one. 

“The house takes two! Place your bets now!” Quark yells out the code as every eye on the bar turns to Julian for just a moment. He smiles a bit self-effacing at that, the 2 references the two hours Quark thinks it will take him to bed the humble tailor. Julian certainly hopes so. A few bets go for 1 and some for a half- Julian mentally rolls his eyes at  _ that _ bit of optimism- but he trusts Quark, really. The house is rarely wrong. Julian meets Garak with a few steps, seeing the curious look.

 

“They’re taking bets,” Julian explains with a disinterest shrug. “I couldn’t begin to guess on what but I have to tell you, that you look absolutely fabulous.” Julian gives a casual but hopeful brush of his upper arm. “I love this shirt,” he says, sure to keep his flirting completely human for now. He can let the fun begin once they’re inside. Garak’s smile in return is brilliant. It’s a wide pleased grin and Julian can see the hint of tongue poking the air, tasting, scenting. 

 

He was sure to shower and apply the deodorizing oil that he and Jadzia had developed after his second date had informed him rather bluntly that he had a delightful time but didn’t think he’d ever be able to adjust to the human scent and taste. Julian never thought he particularly smelled but Gilora had said there was a very strong musk that he would get when perspiring that had quite a salty and at times bitter taste to it. Jadzia didn’t have it and neither did Keiko and he thought it might be a male thing until Keiko reminded him (which he really should have remembered being a doctor) that humans of East Asian descent tend to have fewer apocrine sweat glands and so there began the great experiment to develop an oil that could effectively eliminate that issue. After much trial and error he realized everything Federation produced left an odd lingering taste on the Cardassian tongue even if it was supposed to have no odor.

 

It took months but in the end it worked with the final approval from both Gilora and Ulani he had an effective oil which sat over the skin until it wore off naturally over a few days’ time but until then reacted exactly as needed to produce no odor but a faint trace of sandalwood and root from the north renowned for its mild aroma. They both informed him that they’d scented him more than they cared to and he absolutely owed them both big time. He figured it couldn’t be worse than any other deals he’d cut with them.

 

There’s a curious glance from Garak at that but he refrains from commenting on it instead complimenting Julian’s outfit. Julian can see a linger of eyes to his bare neck, bare collarbone and he almost wishes that he could bet on himself. One. Definitely one. 

“You’ve no idea how excited I am to show you what I have planned for this evening,” Julian says practically vibrating. The Midway. Julian definitely is going to start there with this one. One hour if that and he’s got this. He shoots Quark a wink holding up a finger watching as the patrons erupt in another frenzy of betting as they make their way to the second floor. Julian’s got this…

 

\---

 

Garak doesn’t know that he’s ever been more bored in his life. He smiles politely as Julian drinks the broth out of the boiled egg his head timing out just when he imagines that Julian is going to accidentally spill some down his neck because it’s “terribly messy” and there it goes, a few inviting rivulets of the clear broth running down that nicely tanned skin. 

“And I take it that’s how I’m supposed to enjoy this delicacy?” Garak asks already knowing the answer because he’s already known the answer to every insipid contrivance that this evening has brought him. Guls, if Julian wasn’t so gorgeous... but even that’s starting to wear thin. Julian smiles- wait for it- inviting tilt of his head just so, to the right, another flash of his neck and Garak knows that he should have long put a hand on Julian’s shoulder to show his interest but it’s just so  _ obvious _ he can’t bring himself to give in to such egregiously blatant cues even if it drags this miserable date out further.

 

That and actually every dish that Julian has tempted into his hands has been completely to die for. 

 

The teriyaki, the sweet and sour sauce covering the fried pop beetles nearly brought him to another plane of existence. Julian had gone on about the work he and Chief Engineer O’Brien’s wife had put into the food in the program along with on Ulani Belor who he’d only chanced to hear of due to his former colleague’s amateurish bungling of a simple sabotage mission. Naturally he told Julian he wasn’t familiar with her. Right about now he’s almost wishing he was on a date with  _ her _ as Julian begins another “conversation starter” that he has to be fishing off of a hidden list somewhere.

“Yes, you’ve got it, you do that brilliantly,” he says in a fawning compliment that would be nice if it wasn’t immediately followed up by a predictable air scenting and an enthusiastic “flirty” draw of his finger in the air and by the state did someone print a Cardassian dating manual in the Federation since the end of The Occupation because Garak feels he could sit here with a list and check everything off in order.

 

The Regova  _ balut _ is also heaven. The sprinkle of the  _ furikake _ that Julian suggests is masterful. Julian then asks his opinion on the proposed changes to the household registry next quarter that the council meets and Garak nearly wants to weep. Garak is sure that Julian will present the most uninformed opinion imaginable and allow Garak to “educate” him while he tries to debate a careful but ultimately poor position. Guls, if he wanted to have a date with a vapid holoprogram he’d just run the thing without Julian and just enjoy the food and the ambiance. 

 

How long has it even been? Garak is certain he’s lost all sense of time being trapped in this miserable mobius continuum of bad date. Perhaps he’s in fact died and this is some Faustian iteration of eternal torment for a life poorly lived. The most delicious food in the galaxy in exchanged for company so poor it would drive a man to want to take his own life. Alright, so perhaps the newly opened Federation archives have only given him a larger plethora of work with which to reference when he wants to seem smart- at least that’s what Parmak had said to him the last time they had corresponded. He’d sooner die than admit it but there’s actually some Earth derived literature that he enjoys and he’d been hoping for more interesting cultural exchanges and debates like he’s enjoyed with some of the more frequent human visitors vacationing on the Morfan Providence but...

 

“Is something the matter?” Julian asks and Garak can’t believe that he’s been driven to actually show any of his anguish outwardly. Ironically in a rare moment of veracity he has no clue where to even begin to itemize the obscenely long list of everything single “something” which has grown fed by Julian’s obviousness into a “matter”.   _ My, where to even start... perhaps the scent is the most difficult to reconcile. I definitely scented you in the Replimat and it was a touch strong but very human, very alluring and it was quite nice. But here tonight it’s like tasting a pleasure doll engineered to be inoffensive which may appeal to some but it’s quite boring. You were charming in the replimat and here charm has given way to some series of formulaic scripts you’ve been following exactly like a carefully choreographed routine. Which makes perfect sense of course given the interesting conversation I’d had in Quark’s but still I’d hoped for something a bit different. _

 

He’d in fact, as was his custom, gone to Quark’s earlier in the day to make a discreet study of the area, check for escape routes, hazards, and observe the overall atmosphere. He hadn’t noticed anything untoward as he ordered a drink and kept his ears and eyes open. It had allowed him to relax a bit and it wasn’t long before he started catching snippets of conversation about the “infamous” Julian Bashir which was quite a curiosity. He certainly wasn’t going to involve himself with anyone who could pose a possible danger to himself or Ziyal but then in striking up a conversation with a fellow named Morn who couldn’t shut up for the life of him he learned several interesting things. 

 

The first being that the young doctor was infamous not for any nefarious escapades (or rather, that might depend on who one was to ask) but for the number of Cardassian men he’d bedded- primarily military men and a handful of freighter captains. The second was that his reputation was so large that the entire bar got in on serious betting whenever a “fresh wave” of Cardassians were on the station and third...  _ Third being that he never fails to “bag his lizard” with this very program.  _ Which Garak supposes he could see if he was feeling particularly charitable but he’s been gamely going along with this for the past hour now and he’s sure he’s put in enough time. 

 

He went along with taking the lead in winning Julian some nonsense trinket from a target shooting booth, earning much praise from a “strength tester” that was definitely doctored, to a boat ride with just the right ambient sounds to create pleasant complementary reactions in one’s nervous system and on and on to Julian himself who clearly has mastered the fine art of appealing to a very specific segment of the Cardassian military population. It’s a wonder they haven’t invited him back to give him his own holiday. 

 

Which Garak supposes would be all well and good-  _ Yes, doctor, I’m so pleased with your obvious love of civic duty that I’ll gladly put a hand on your shoulder and tell you what a good boy you are _ \- except he  _ isn’t _ some authority obsessed soldier who gets off on these bland deferential power games. He wants passion, he wants a  _ challenge _ , he wants there to be a reason for him to bring discipline, to lead, to bring Julian to heel. Perhaps he is getting old because Julian clearly has done this dance so much he could go through the motions unconscious but is it really asking too much to have something more than just a pleasing body to jam his  _ prUt _ into? 

 

Still, he has to bear in mind that cause embarrassment to the station CMO might prove unwise. Yes, a lie is definitely in order here, though he needs to make sure it’s not a medical one. He supposes Ziyal will have to be it. It’s uncreative and stupid but frankly, Julian doesn’t deserve his good stuff and the sooner it gets him out of here the better.

“I’m sorry, doctor,” he says a touch dramatically. He might not be getting more than Julian’s usual routine but he likes to think that even if he’s returning in kind that  _ his _ routine is much more convincing. “I’m afraid I’ve been terribly poor company but you see I’ve just been so terribly concerned about Yaya. Oh, I know she’s a grown woman and I trust Major Kira to be showing her the same consideration and hospitality that you’ve shown me-“ Guls, he hopes not “-but I just haven’t been able to give you the attention that you deserve and it’s such a pity after all the trouble that you’ve gone through. It’s only my hope that we might do this again sometime.” Perhaps after he’s long dead and Julian gets some new material. 

 

Garak wears sincerity brightly and reaches across the table to put his hand over Julian’s. He intends the gesture in the human way but sees Julian’s curious look at the display of dominance. Maybe he’ll get lucky and a fleet of Klingon birds of prey will crash into the station. But it seems to do the trick and Doctor Bashir is ending the program mercifully. Garak could kiss him, he really could. Except that would certainly make him try for a second and Garak isn’t too keen on remembering the first. He wonders if anyone ever actually bets on the doctor to fail. Judging by the expression on Julian’s face somehow he doubts it.

 

\---

 

And it’s with that sour taste in his mouth that Garak finally gets back to his quarters determined to hack the station computers and never again eat in the Replimat when Julian isn’t on duty. He sees Ziyal laying sprawled on the couch looking about the way that he feels right about now. He opens his mouth to ask, the two of them exchanging a look before he does.

“Kanar?” She asks sympathetically already sitting up to go get it.

“Kanar,” Garak agrees with a sigh.

 

Looks like he’s not the only one who had a “bad date”.

 


	5. Trips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian talks to Ziyal and finds out how to best make amends with Garak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still trying to bust these out quickly since I have a million Tumblr WIPs to move but everyonewill have a chance to catch up come chapter 7 XP

“Good morning, Miss Ziyal. I’m so terribly sorry to bother you but I had hoped to speak with you about your father. Nothing bad I just… I was hoping I could… I don’t know talk to him. I know he’s been avoiding me and I’m sure that it’s something that I’ve done and he’s just being polite.” Ziyal looks up at the doctor standing in front of her and considers what he’s been saying. It’s true, of course. Her yad’ had hacked into the Station logs using the old Terok Nor codes and a lot of creativity for the sole purpose of planning his activity around Doctor Bashir’s shifts. He’d also ended up fielding a lot of questions from Odo in the security office and as a result found himself “volunteering” to assist with upgrading some of the security protocols to guard against similar incidents in the future. So in the end it worked out exactly as he had hoped. 

 

Ziyal found herself reminding him of that each time he would complain about the work involved and so far three days had passed by without him running into Doctor Bashir even once. Ziyal had listened, grimacing at his recount of the “torture” that was Doctor’s Bashir’s “unforgivably dull and clearly contrived company”, and Ziyal knows if there’s one thing that her yad’ abhors in a date it’s tedium. Worse than that, from the way he’d described it, Doctor Bashir could’ve slotted anyone into the space and had the exact same date; probably had, in fact. She hadn’t been terribly happy to hear that; her yad’ deserved far better than just some fetishist. But she’d thought the doctor had presented a much different picture when they met and there had to be more to it than that. She’s thankful that she may actually have an opportunity to find out.

 

Her yad’ had said that it wasn’t worth looking into any further but it wasn’t like she had promised to stay out of it, and perhaps if she can get to the bottom of the matter then it would help pull her yad’ out of his sour mood. Ziyal shifts the box of Delavian chocolates and the small bouquet of Bajoran lilacs. They’re both for Major Kira, her yad’ insisting that whether they parted on fair terms or not, a show of remorse was in order for instigating such a ridiculous incident. He’d also suggested she request Major Kira help train her combat deficits which made her sigh but acknowledge that it’s better not to be ill prepared. She only hopes that her gesture will be well received though Major Kira had said that everything was fine between them.  _ “Ask Dukat, how “fine” it is when a Bajoran woman says “fine””, _ he had said and perhaps there was a bit of a tease at her as well.

 

Ziyal smiles at the doctor.

“I’d be happy to talk to you over breakfast, doctor. Maybe you can help me too as a matter of fact. I was hoping to find Major Kira so that I could give her this but it doesn’t look like my plan of wandering around the Promenade is working out too well. So I think we can probably help each other out.”

“Absolutely!” Doctor Bashir exclaims looking relieved. “And you know, I have it on good authority that those are some of Major Kira’s favorite flowers. Her mother was quite fond of them if I recall so you’re on good footing there.”

 

They fall into step to the Replimat, Ziyal not quite sure of how to begin exactly. Her yad’ is always on about diplomacy and tact unless something else is called for but for the life of her she’s always been rather plainspoken. Fortunately, Doctor Bashir seems content to talk more about the Major, filling the silence while Ziyal admits that their tour might have gotten a bit out of hand with Julian’s solemn assurance that Major Kira is a wonderful soul and if she says there’s nothing to apologize for then Ziyal has little to worry about. Though it’s been Ziyal’s experience learned from her yad’ that a little flattery and kindness can go a long way in opening doors or mending strain between acquaintances or friends so there’s always that.

 

At Doctor Bashir’s suggestion Ziyal opts for scones with jam- one of his favorites- and something called “bangers and mash”. It doesn’t sound particularly appetizing but the onion gravy is to die for good. Yad’ was right, Doctor Bashir has an exceptional taste for food. Well that’s something to build a bridge off of. Ziyal is glad for the heavy breakfast as well, not having realized how hungry she was for the time she’d already been wandering around the various shops. She’s also glad that Julian fills the silence telling her about his childhood traveling with his parents. He tells her about his stuffed bear and his aunt and his crazy relatives and she thinks it must be wonderful to have such a large extended family.

 

“Oh you say that now,” Doctor Bashir goes on laughing, “but that’s because you haven’t had to bail your cousin Paddy out of lockup more times than there are rings around Saturn. You know the last time he honest to god threw a dolly through a tram? Like my aunt Emmeline says it’s just harmless football hooliganism- that’s er like well, it’s rowdy behavior after one of the football matches… do they have team sports on Cardassia?” Julian is also quite easy to distract with his tangents and Ziyal really doesn’t understand how her yad’ could have had such a poor time with a lively man like him. 

“No, I’m afraid not. Well not really, sometimes there are combat exhibitions and actually, the annual poetry competition can get pretty intense.” Perhaps not throwing a… dolly? A doll? Through a tram? A… she didn’t quite follow the translator on that but she can sort of imagine what he means. They might not be as exciting as mass riots but the year before everyone had watched with baited breath as the finalist Kaallen Pod recited a riotously subversive piece subtly linking Archon Mal to the disgraced Legate Khet. The trial that followed was quite a spectacle as well.

 

“Did you really treat yad’ like an “assembly line Glinn?”” She blurts out suddenly just not able to understand what could have  _ possibly _ gone on. Julian blanches.

“Oh god… did he… is that what he said?” He looks absolutely mortified and she feels bad but that’s certainly not something her yad’ would lie about for no reason… at least not to her.

“Well ah… Well, yes, yes he did and I hope you understand but I’m very confused right now because I’m enjoying your company quite a bit. I know we’re not on a date of course but surely you didn’t behave much differently than now?” 

 

She looks at him and thinks he slinks a bit further down into his chair looking off at something else before looking back to her. Oh dear. He had. He absolutely had. Was that some sort of strange human custom? Was there simply some cultural misunderstanding? Well no, her yad’ had said it was like the doctor had read some “how to” guide that could’ve been written by Gul Dukat himself but that would be far too unkind of a thing to say. She sees him picking at his scone radiating guilt. She’s not quite sure what else to say to that but he saves her the trouble. She watches Doctor Bashir take a deep breath and sigh.

 

“I’m not good at this,” he says at last and she finds that a bit hard to believe. According to her yad’, they take bets in the bar to see how quickly he can “I’m not having this discussion with you, you’re my daughter.” Julian sees her incredulous expression and rushes ahead with a wave of his hands. “Not… I mean… I mean I… I talk too much. I say too much. I put people off, I have a lot of trouble knowing what’s too much and you’ve no idea just how long it even took me to make friends here. I didn’t even  _ realize _ I was getting on everyone’s nerves and you know I’m not good at talking to people like… like a date. I can’t do it so I didn’t, I mean I just… I just ended up working out the same thing like… like a formula with data and numbers and adjustments here and there so I can just... just you know, stick to what I know won’t get me slapped or laughed at and I know that sounds stupid and calculating and I look like some bloody awful bad date robot but I… I like your father and I really didn’t want to risk screwing anything up but it seems I’ve just gone and made an awful mess of things anyway.”

 

Julian sits back in the chair and Ziyal watches his head go back in dramatic defeat and she can’t help the small smile. He really is cute. Her yad’ really would like this man as he actually is. His sincerity is endearing. He’s passionate, he  _ interesting _ . But how in the name of the Ancients to get him a second chance is the question? 

“You know doctor,” she says with a bit of reproach in her voice. “I think yad’ would like you a lot if he got to see this side of you.”

“I know I’ve already blown it terribly,” he groans into the hands over his face and she nearly doesn’t hear him. 

“You don’t think you’re overreacting?” she teases. He sits up and looks at her and then the flowers and chocolates. He smiles back a bit.

“Not any more than anyone else, I suppose.” Ziyal clears her throat at that. It’s a nice gesture. It’s appropriate. Alright so flowers or chocolates would have sufficed but there’s no law against manners as her yad’ would say.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She says playfully. “But as for yad’ well… I might be able to do something there…”

“I would be glad to let Major Kira know that you’d like to speak with her. I believe she’s free this afternoon and will probably be at the gym around 1500.”

“The gym?” Ziyal asks uncertainly, thinking back to that last encounter. 

“What better place, right?” Julian asks, and somehow Ziyal thinks that awful incident has somehow circulated around the entire station. Guls, no wonder she was getting those stares and those salutes from some of the junior officers. 

 

“Ah… right… so… so yad’ and I have been meeting for lunch here and it looks like I’ll be busy but I promise he’ll be here. I wouldn’t bother with flowers and chocolates. He likes those but I think your best bet would be to bring something  _ interesting _ instead.”

“Interesting?” he repeats to her nod. He smiles to himself. “I know just the place.”

 

—

“No no, you don’t understand, Ziw, I’m sure that wasn’t some playful euphemism. I’m sure that I’m meant to pique his curiosity with something unique,  _ not  _ perverse.” Julian watches as once again the Bolian helpfully holds up an odd three pronged device with an ancient motor and something that looks like it utilizes some sort of outside power conduit. Ziw had let him know that three hundred years ago Cardassian  _ ajan’yas _ were quite popular both on and off world amongst those looking for a little excitement. 

 

The Bolian, Ziw Tralar owns a darkened shop behind an eclectic curtain known only as “Forbin Project”. The place- which Julian has no idea how it keeps in business- is a strange assortment of old print books and antiquities that Ziw has gathered and traded from all manner of customers from the alpha quadrant and some he even claims from the Gamma quadrant and mirror universe. The mirror universe is Ziw’s clever name for Kirk’s other world that Julian’s had the unfortunate chance to visit.

 

But if there is one thing that can be said about the strange little shop- aside from the smell that Quark claims scares away his customers a few doors down and Ziw claims if anything draws them over to the bar- it’s the wide assortment of  _ interesting _ things that he’s collected and tends to sell at obscenely low prices. This from Nog who had acquired a highly valuable Ferengi “courtesan novel” written by some famous writer who Nog said wrote such vivid descriptions of oomox that they’d been banned on three provinces on Ferenginar for over a century. That was really more than Julian ever needed to know about Nog’s tastes in literature but supposedly he’d traded the old text to his father to get out of a month of helping at the bar.

 

Julian had the afternoon free and, cognizant of the time had practically raced over upon raiding his few pithy stores of latinum, has been in the shop ever since while Ziw has been plying him with one sex toy after another.

“Look,” Julian says pushing the device back across the counter. “I don’t want to seem ungrateful. You’ve spent far more time with this than I could expect but I’m not…” He’s about to say he’s not just trying to get Garak into bed except that’s not entirely true. He absolutely  _ is _ trying to get Garak into bed but he’s not trying to give that impression. Besides, from what little he’d gathered on their date- and God it really was precious little thanks to his stupid “script” that he’d barely gotten to know him at all- he really  _ did _ want to get to know Garak better and see if they might not have chemistry elsewhere.

 

“I’ve got it!” Ziw interrupts his thoughts slamming a metal cylinder between them. Julian takes one look at it and is about to protest when Ziw’s hand goes up. Julian notes the “X-Ray” ring on one finger wondering as he always does if the thing really works. “Ah tut tut dirty mind.  _ This _ is actually meant for your finger, Doctor Pervert. Actually it’s meant for two fingers. I’ll show you. It’s great. You’re trying to snag a guy. That’s your deal. Watch and learn and be amazed.” Ziw inserts a blue finger into each side of the cylinder. Julian looks at it seeing the woven slats like some ancient basket weaving. And then he watches as Ziw tries to pull his fingers out to no avail. His eyebrows raise impressed. 

“They’re stuck,” he observes.

 

“Not just stuck, see these are modified from some old Earth joke I read, guy that sold this to me explained it like this. So the old Earth jokes were easy. They released when you press in and loosen the weavings. Real basic, simple principle but some Vulcan somewhere out there had a sense of humor and made his own variation. Called it a “meditation cylinder” and see it’s not so simple.” Ziw pushes his fingers together and the cylinder still gets tighter. Julian’s mouth opens and he looks at Ziw, a smile starting to curve his mouth. 

“And surely there’s a way to get out of it. I can’t imagine you’d have stuck your fingers in there if there wasn’t.” Ziw grins back with a nod and closes his eyes. Julian watches as he turns his fingers so they’re running up and down and he watches the trap slowly slide off the top finger. Then he turns his other hand down breathing slowly, deeply, and lets it drop back to the counter.

 

“Simple right? Just like a Vulcan, see it reads your calm. Thing goes off body tension and heat, don’t quite know how it works but any tension it feels in your muscles in, out, doesn’t matter. Only comes off when you’re perfectly relaxed and then it’ll drop off. No worries. Don’t know why they ever stopped using them on Vulcan with their students. Well maybe they never caught on.” He shrugs looking mischievous. Julian loves it. Garak won’t just find this interesting... he’ll  _ have _ to agree to let Julian take him on a real proper date if he wants to know the trick to get out! “So tell me what you think it’s worth to you.” Ziw sighs deeply when Julian starts going for the latinum. “Come on, doctor, latinum? Right a man can’t live on trinkets alone but latinum is so dull.”

“I’m sorry, but you know I don’t have a whole lot of artifacts I’m willing to part with.”

“You telling me all that planetary exploration and you don’t have anything? All the “garbage” you always complain about your family shipping you?”

 

Julian thinks about it a moment, long and hard. It isn’t like he looks for things to stuff in his pockets during away missions... not like cousin Paddy at least. Which reminds him of one of the last weird little parcels his cousin had sent him. “Fell off the back of a freighter” he’d said and Julian knew better than to argue. 

“I’ve got a case of bubblegum I suppose.” It wasn’t like he could chew it while he was working anyway; Nurse Jabara said his smacking lips made him sound like an ornery horse and Nurse Hortak tended to jump when the bubbles popped. Very unprofessional. Well, he supposed it was for a noble cause.

 

“The pink kind, right? The pop kind?”

“Right.”

“Good good. Never could get the hang of that stuff. Need another chance at it I think. Alright, doctor, you got yourself a deal.”

“Wonderful!” Julian stops. “Well it’s almost three already. Please tell me I can bring it by in the morning. If I miss my chance now...”

“Yeah, yeah,“ Ziw is already waving him off. “Not like I don’t know where you work, right? First thing, don’t forget, go get him get out.” Julian is about to snatch the trap when Ziw pauses him, fishing under the counter a moment. “Box, can’t give a guy a gift without a box. S’how civilizations fall I hear.” He puts it in a nearly perfectly sized little gift box with a green bow. “There you go, knock him dead, all that whatever...” Julian takes it gratefully and practically runs to the Replimat just hoping that he can fix this properly.

 

—

He’s a little late, but Garak is thankfully still there waiting on his daughter and easy to spot. Julian’s first thought is that he looks like a watermelon- a delectable watermelon that he’d like to sink his teeth into. Or sink teeth into him; he decides that would be perfect. Garak is wearing a dark green striped tunic and a dark pink, reddish vest over it. Of course he would look stylish. he’s a tailor, after all. Julian’s rather thankful they’re doing this in the Replimat. It’s easier here. He feels much more like himself here and well... well he couldn’t possibly mess this up worse so if Garak thinks his actual personality is a complete wreck he’ll be in the same spot he was in earlier anyway. Julian can see Garak looking around and almost nervously wipes his hands on his uniform. This was so much easier when there was a plan, when there was simple series of subroutines from A to B. This? This is terrifying. Maybe he should just ask him to give Cindy a kiss and see where that goes. Right. Brilliant idea, that.

 

“Garak!” Julian calls out tempted for a moment to just play dumb and pretend that he had no idea that Garak was avoiding him but that hardly seems productive. He steels himself, seeing Garak’s face snap to a grin that looks just as much a grimace of pain. God, he really screwed this up.

“Ah, Doctor Bashir! My apologies, we haven’t seen much of each other but I did want to thank you for a lovely evening and a delightful sampling of creative delicacies. You really must tell me what some of those recipes are or where you’d gotten them. But another time, I think. I’m meeting Ziyal here you see and though she’s running a touch late I expect her here shortly.”

“She’s ah... She’s not coming,” Julian says, a nervous hand behind his neck. “She and I may have had a bit of a chat earlier and… um… May I... may I sit down a moment? I promise I won’t stay long though I completely understand if you tell me to get lost I’d just... I’d just like a moment of your time.”

 

Garak looks like he really is considering the first option but he motions for Julian to take a seat.

“Right, thank you. Thank you so much,” Julian breathes out in relief. At least that’s one part down. “I wanted to apologize for the other night.”

“Apologize?” Garak says in surprise; if Julian didn’t know otherwise he really would believe him. “There’s nothing to apologize for, doctor. You were gracious to show me a delightful evening and again I only regret that I had to leave early.”

“S’pose it was better than you faking a heart attack,” Julian remarks dryly. 

“Why doctor! Do you really think I would engineer such a deception?”

“No, you’re much too clever for such an obvious rouse considering I’m CMO of the station but... but what I’m trying to say is that I’d really like a chance to make it up to you. A real chance I mean to ah... to show you a proper date... properly... without the ah...”

“Excruciating flow chart seduction?”  _ Well ouch _ . Julian’s pretty sure he doesn’t actually wince.

“Yes,” he agrees. “That.”

“You’ll forgive me, doctor, but I really don’t know if that’s such a good idea. I have a lot of work to do with Odo and-” 

“Ah but ah.. .!” Julian interrupts presenting the box. “That’s why I er... I brought you something to sweeten the pot,” he says sliding the box over with a nervous smile. Garak does look genuinely surprised this time and Julian really likes that look on his face. “I may have run into your daughter earlier this morning and she said that you liked interesting things, so when I saw this in Ziw’s shop. Oh! Ziw Tralar is the Bolian who owns “Forbin Project” which is a delightful shop that I well anyway I saw that and I thought you’d like it.”

 

Garak has picked up the woven metal cylinder turning it over in his hand.

“I must admit I’m not quite sure what it is. Is this a human... device?” Garak asks, rubbing his thumb over the weave. 

“It’s a meditation cylinder,” Julian explains with a big smile. “Vulcan, in fact. You see you insert both your index fingers at either end up to the knuckles and it... helps you relax based of your energies.” Not entirely a lie. Julian’s leg jitters a bit under the table. “Would you like to... give it a try?” he suggests hopefully. Garak looks at him a moment, some unreadable expression, but he looks almost amused as he does as Julian suggests. “Right, just like that,” he says nodding encouragement.

 

“Now that’s fascinating!” Garak remarks as he tries to pull his fingers out but can’t. He looks at Julian with that smirk and a speculative tilt of his head. He tries a few more times to free his fingers but can’t.

“There’s a trick to it of course,” Julian supplies, trying to keep his legs still. He really can’t. He’s far too excited.

“Of course. I suppose you’ll be willing to tell me... for a price?” Garak asks coyly and Julian nearly swallows his tongue at that look. Alright, so he’s probably painfully transparent but he’s already nodding like an idiot.

“Yes I’m... guess it was pretty obvious but well, I guess I just wanted to ensure that you would say yes.” Well, if he says no Julian will still tell him how to get it off. He’ll just be absolutely crushed when he does. 

“Yes?”

 

“To another date.” Julian licks his lips nervously. Garak’s hands have gone still and he’s looking at the device calmly. He’s quiet a moment and Julian is about to cave and just tell him but then Garak finally continues.

“Alright doctor, but this time we’ll do this on my terms.” He looks up at Garak and there’s an expression there that nearly stops his heart. God it’s piercing. “After all, I think it’s safe to say that you’ve been somewhat thoughtless and... naughty. Wouldn’t you?”

“Yes... oh... oh absolutely,” Julian answers, the drop in Garak’s pitch melting him.

“Good then,” Garak agrees standing up.

 

“Wait, but don’t you need to-” Julian’s eyes nearly pop out of his head when he sees the device clatter to the table all of a sudden, Garak pocketing it with the most sinfully smug grin.

“Twenty one hundred hours, my dear boy,” Garak practically purrs as he turns to leave, Julian still in shock, mouth open like he’s trying to catch flies, his aunt would say. “Oh and doctor?”

“Yes?!” Julian coughs. That was far too loud. “Er... yes?”

“Don’t mask your scent, doctor, he says with a subtle scent of the air. “I’m rather fond of it.”

Julian is certain if he nods any harder his head is going to pop clear off. So help him he’s not screwing up his second chance!

 


	6. Billion Dollar Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garak and Julian have a redo of their date, and Garak is quite pleased to get to know the real Julian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to both Eilu and TheBlueMeany for the inspiration and input on Julian's crazy relatives, I couldn't have done this without you :)

“Someone looks serious,” Ziyal teases him as he finishes fastening the high neck of the shimmering silver shirt. It’s one he wears on rare occasion- when he wants to make a point, when he wants to create a certain impression. It falls like liquid over him, a ripple of that metallic sheen down past his waist settling nicely on his hips. He decides to stay with the same black pants, opting for dark boots with several buckles stopping high on the ankle. These are the boots he wears when he doesn’t plan on taking them off. That’s not to say he isn’t planning on perhaps an... exciting evening. Just that it may be of a different sort than the other night. He’s certain Ziyal knows exactly what the outfit means though she knows he’s hardly going to give her any juicy detail.

 

He saves the details for his old friend Parmak back home. Parmak was - and still is to the best of Garak’s knowledge - Tain’s most trusted physician and he’s always been the embodiment of discretion. He’s also a deliciously corrupted and carnal soul who devours Garak’s tawdry tales like some mythical human incubus. He may also in turn respond with a few naughty little tidbits of his own. Parmak has demonstrated to him in his writings on numerous occasions that an acute knowledge of anatomy is quite useful in describing certain pleasurable acts. Really, Parmak might make a career of writing erotic pulp should he ever tire of taking Tain’s temperature and well... Garak prefers not to dwell on the other rumors surrounding his father and his old friend that Parmak vehemently denies.

 

“Well, if the dear boy went through the trouble of angling for a second chance, far be it for me not to put forth a comparable amount of effort as well.”

“Oh it’s a “dear boy” sort of date,” Ziyal says with a knowing grin. Garak turns away with a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I have no idea what you’re implying. And, don’t think I didn’t notice you dressed in one of your more alluring tops.” She’s wearing a stunning sleeveless shirt with a neck high like his that proudly displays the tattoos of her arms. There are gold waves embroidered down the bottom, the color dark violet and matched with a pair of trouser of his own design- black with a high waistline, several attractive buttons and pockets sewn in contrasting patches along the legs. She has a pair of sandals on as well, her toes painted blue, and it’s certainly worth a comment. “Surely that’s not for Major Kira?”

 

Ziyal shakes her head and checks the time. Garak has a few minutes and he’s certainly never too busy to spend with her. Perhaps it might even give Julian a bit of pause if he lets him go a few minutes. Garak takes a seat on the sofa and she sits next to him.

“Should I be holding your hands with excitement or saying a prayer to the Ancients?” he asks lightly. He watches her take a deep breath, momentarily concerned before she waves him off.

“No it’s nothing exciting. It’s not. I mean I don’t know if it should be but I met a girl today yad’, the most clever, brilliant, beautiful girl and I really think you’d find her wit amusing and charming and I’m going to do bow-ling with her tonight. She told me I should wear shoes that come off easily so...” She says it’s not a big deal but he can see her practically vibrating.

 

Garak is glad. He was concerned about Ziyal finding her way on the Station and he’s been rather poor company in his avoidance of Julian but well, he may likely remain poor company for other reasons. Knowing that Ziyal is making... acquaintances sets his mind at ease.

“So have I met this charming young lady?” He asks thinking to anyone else he may have seen around the Station. He’d noticed a few Starfleet officers, a few other Cardassians who travelled with them; primarily merchants and a few researchers but... but no, she’s shaking her head. Interesting.

 

“Mardah works at Quarks. Actually I met her while I was apologizing to Major Kira.” Ziyal shifts on the couch with a bit of a bounce. “Would you believe that Major Kira actually trains a lot of the girls on the station for combat? She says self defense and something about Quark and grabby hands but she’s a wonderful instructor, yad’. You were right, I know I’ll learn a lot from her and Mardah... Oh she’s wonderful. She’s a few years younger than me and she thought my art was the most fascinating. She thinks that I’ll do well on Bajor and she’s studying to be an entomologist and she’s very strong and talented and well alright I might be a little excited for... for bow-ling”

“For bow-ling?” Garak asks with a little smirk standing up just in time to avoid being hit with a pillow. “Yes, let Mardah help you shore up your speed,” he practically sings, pretending he doesn’t notice her rude gesture. He laughs as he leaves a spring in his step saying a silent prayer for the best for them both.

 

—

Garak hadn’t specified a location, merely a time but as he imagined, Julian is standing outside of Quark’s looking just an enticing as he had the night of their first date. No, he amends, more so this time around since that air of practiced confidence and ease has been replaced with a genuine look of anxious anticipation and excitement. Julian’s entire face lights up when he sees Garak, a look of relief intermingled as well. Garak may have let him wait a few minutes just to make sure that he was properly contrite. He most certainly is, and there is admittedly anticipation and charge to the air between them as Julian practically runs that last few steps to greet him. It looks like Ziyal was correct when she was speaking with him earlier. This charming creature is already nothing like his date the other evening.

 

Strike that; there are a couple of similarities and those are quite promising. Julian looks just as handsome. He’s wearing a pair of loose beige pants which appear to be linen, nicely draping down with a peach colored shirt, contrasting to his tanned skin. He’s still showing an appreciable amount of said skin- the few buttons on top undone a bit more daring than before but he isn’t making a show of it today. His sleeves are rolled up, hair just a bit tousled and the look which he returns to Garak well… That’s just the same if not more excited than before.

 

“Garak!” he exclaims then winces at the loudness of his voice. Julian seems self-conscious of his own enthusiasm, lowering his voice a few octaves and clearing his throat. “Sorry ah I’m just… I’m pleased that you’re here.” He holds out his hand, clearly trying a different tact. Garak is tempted to have a little fun with him but decides that can wait until Julian is more at ease. He’s familiar with this custom and takes Julian’s hand warmly. He can tell immediately that Julian had honored his request not to mask his scent and it’s enchanting, a strong ginger mingling with an undertone of something sweet almost like honey. Garak wants to see if his skin tastes as nice. 

 

“I’m pleased to see you more… comfortable,” Garak says diplomatically. Julian looks away momentarily, that clasp of hands hanging on a bit long from both of them before letting go. 

“I wasn’t sure if you’d actually show up. I mean not that I don’t trust you er… I mean I don’t know you well enough but ah… I just… like to trust people before I don’t… I… I have no idea what I’m saying, I’m so sorry.” Garak sees him taking a step back already so flustered outside what was obviously a carefully scripted dance before. Ziyal had said somewhat naughtily that Julian was the sort of charming she was sure he wouldn’t be able to resist and while Garak had a good idea what she was implying- damn observant girl!- he feigned ignorance on that count.  _ Oh, doctor, I would love nothing more than to devour you. _

 

Garak smiles and puts a hand on his shoulder, a gesture that Julian recognizes but almost seems adorably confused by. 

“Why don’t I tell you what I had in mind for this evening to start and we can go from there?” He suggests, letting his hand drop starting to walk to one of the directories. Garak may have used what little free time he was able to wrangle away from Odo that afternoon to do a little research. There’s one name on the Promenade Directory that stood out most. He had stared at it a moment uncertainly before deciding to just walk over and investigate for himself. It had turned out that the “Happy Bottom Riding Club” was in fact not as the name might have implied some sordid Federation Fetish establishment- pity- but rather a nice low key somewhat dimly lit supper club with an assortment of grilled dishes from the Alpha Quadrant. 

 

He’d had a brief moment to speak with the hostess to make a reservation and she even took the time to explain that the name had derived from some old Earth establishment and was the brain child of a Bolian on station who owned “Forbin Project”. The Bolian, Ziw Tralar, had advised giving a name that stood out and promoted a conversation. Well, the young Andorran woman had explained, they did receive a considerable amount of curiosity business along with their fair share of “misunderstandings”. She had a poorly concealed huff of irritation explaining that last bit to him; Garak could only imagine. He lets Julian know their destination as they begin walking in that direction leisurely.

 

Julian laughs.

“Oh god. You know when I was first stationed here and I saw that name I thought the most awful things.”

“Did you now?” 

“Well I mean you know Happy Bottom Riding Club like…” Julian pauses there and gives Garak a sideways look. “Like… you know…” Garak looks back at him innocently. 

“Is that a colloquialism for some Earth practice I should be aware of?”

“Well… not exactly ah… you know it’s ah… like say you and I um…” Julian stammers again and catches Garak looking just a touch too sanguine. He scowls. “Oh you know bloody well what I mean and it’s not like my misunderstanding resulted in my showing up in vinyl with a zipper mask or something.

“My, Julian, we haven’t even started our proper date and to think I’ve already learned so much more about you than before.”

“Ha, but you know I’ve never actually been there all the years I’ve been stationed here.”

“I can’t imagine,” Garak says certain that Julian’s sure thing pleasure sim has negated any need to try anything different. Julian seems to read that thought as well looking a touch embarrassed.

“Well you know because it’s always seemed so posh with those big wooden looking doors and all.”

“Of course,” Garak agrees easily, stopping then they’ve arrived. Julian does look a touch uncomfortable but Garak puts a hand on his arm seeing Julian’s expression positively melt. Oh that’s so nice.

 

There’s little wait given his foresight and Garak may have made a subtle arrangement with the hostess earlier in the day when he confirmed that she would be working the rest of the evening. He let her know that he would be by later with a handsome young doctor on the station, and to her credit she wore a perfect mask of professionalism when it was clear she knew exactly which doctor and was impressed that Garak had somehow diverted him from his usual “routine”. Garak wasn’t quite sure how he felt dating a man with  _ that _ infamous of a reputation but it also pleases him to be Julian’s first in a number of things. 

 

Garak had informed the hostess that he would be quite appreciative if she would note the manner of their arrival. If he were to arrive with his hands in his pockets then he wouldn’t object to prompt service and a table. If, on the other hand, he were to arrive with his hand on said doctor’s arm then he would appreciate a booth in the corner, particularly, one of the intimate round seaters where they might sit next to each other and enjoy a discreet  _ unhurried _ meal.

 

She smiles at him a little knowing expression and he slips her a few strips of latinum when she leads them both to that secluded corner booth, the clean leather large enough to sit four. Garak slides right into the middle and motions for Julian to sit next to him.

“I thought, since the first time we’d followed your plan that tonight, you might indulge my in following my lead,” Garak says, waiting to see how Julian responds. The dark lights don’t allow for as much detail of Julian’s face as Garak would like but that expression says it all as Julian nearly bangs against the table moving to obey. 

 

Obey; that has a nice ring to it. Ziyal had said- again not particularly subtly- that it was her impression that Julian was the type who might find it helpful if Garak were to tell him exactly what to do. Her expression when she offered that advice left no doubt as to what she’d meant and Guls, had it really been so long ago that she had grown her final incisors?  _ Eight years now, Elim. _ Right, there will be no more lamenting of years slipping away. She is grown and in this instance that’s much to his benefit because he’s certain her advice will prove invaluable.

 

“Oh… oh yes, that would only be fair,” Julian says, a touch breathless when he says fair. But as tempting as he is, Garak isn’t going to rush. He’s going to be careful cautious, and he smiles as he takes a drink of cold water. 

“I would like very then to play a little game with you, my dear.”

“A game?” 

“Yes, a very simple one. I’m going to give you directions during our dinner and I’d like you to follow them as best as you can. I may ask you a question. I may ask you to perform just a simple task for me well within your abilities. If I’m pleased with your response then you’ll get a little reward. Is that acceptable?” Garak takes a long drink of water seeing Julian processing those guidelines carefully. 

“I think that will be alright. What if there’s a question or request that I have trouble with?”

“I would never try and push you into anything that would make you uncomfortable,” Garak answers seriously, putting a hand to Julian’s arm again. “Please let me know if there is something to which you truly object.” Julian nods.

 

“Alright then, sounds good so then-” Garak takes the menu with a smirk just as Julian reaches for it. “Right,” he says, “following your lead.” Garak is pleased with how well Julian catches on and after establishing that there is in fact apparently nothing that the man won’t put in his mouth (Julian’s words, not his) Garak orders a carefully curated selection of dishes that can be eaten with the fingers. He then sees Julian about to take a drink, stop himself, and ask with a bit of a little gleam in his eyes for permission. Garak can feel a slight surge of heat at that as he grants it and tells Julian just a little softly himself that he won’t need to ask permission. Tonight, he adds with his own daring expression and Julian spends a little too long holding that look nearly dropping his glass with a stammered apology.

 

“Now then,” Garak begins. “I feel that we’ve had enough conversation revolving around the matter of Cardassian politics to last us a while so why don’t you tell me something amusing.”

“Something amusing?”

“Yes, and before you begin, I would very much like your permission to touch you a shade more boldly if you’re comfortable with that.”

“Well I’m not sure what a shade is but I’ll tell you if it’s too much?” He looks so hopeful that Garak can go nothing but agree.

 

“Right,” Julian continues with a dip of his head. “You’re putting me on the spot here a bit but ah… I don’t know if you’d find any of the stupid stories about my family amusing. Ziyal had so… alright so this is completely ridiculous just happened last week actually. My cousin Paddy- god the stories I could tell you about him alone- well last week I got a COM from Ops that there was some emergency transmission coming through from Earth. So they patch him through and the first thing I see is my cousin Paddy on the dial up - er… old Earth slang, sorry- from this local pub and before he so much as says hello he’s asking me how do you know if a knife hits your arteries and then he proceeds to turn ‘round and show me right there two stab wounds. Then he says he didn’t know he’d even been cut but I should see the other buggers and I’m trying to tell him he ought to be dialing a doctor that can… you know be there in person and he’s trying to have me walk him through triage like this is just a normal thing and do you know what he says to me?”

 

Garak is laughing at Julian’s animated recounting, hearing that accent of his changing slightly the longer he goes on.

“What’s that?” Garak doesn’t need to affect his interest as Julian clears his throat and recounts quite comically,

“He says “I said to Jimmy, I said “ what’d you call one of the muppets down the ozzy for? Our kid’s a reet good doctor! He can learn us through it and it’ll be aber twice as good with none of the agro. Won’t even have to leave the bar. Now, go on our Ar La… ”” The translator seems to miss most of that, Garak trying to puzzle it out. Julian looks a bit sheepish as he repeats it in a more standard dialect. Garak grins as Julian continues recounting the ridiculous affair of trying to talk his cousin through treating his own stab wounds with the aid of “Jimmy” the owner of the bar and an array of likely unlicensed medical equipment. 

 

It’s a rather fantastic story, and Garak decides it certainly deserves a reward. Julian is laughing softly to himself as he concludes that as of this morning his cousin appears to be on the mend. “So is that satisfactory?” he asks, eyes moving to Garak’s hand when he sees it lift towards his face. Garak doesn’t answer immediately, instead letting his knuckles slowly and lightly drag over Julian’s cheek, seeing that his breath catches just a bit, the rest of him completely still. Now that is a lovely picture, he thinks, pulling back from that small gesture satisfied that Julian is left tongue tied when the waitress arrives and takes their order.

 

“Was there…” Julian licks his lips. “-anything else I might regale you with?” Garak thinks on it a moment and then instructs Julian to tell him something that he would be amazed to know, giving a sly warning that he’s quite familiar with a wide variety of subjects over multiple cultures. Julian rises to that challenge, informing him that there is a puzzle that he’s certain Garak could not possibly slither his way out of.  _ Clever. There’s no way to confirm the veracity of your statement without the puzzle here. There may not even be a puzzle. But I wouldn’t know that. _ Garak is exceptionally pleased.

 

“That’s a good boy,” he says, this time that touch to Julian’s face lingering longer, fingers trailing down Julian’s neck with deliberate pacing, a long idle motion that leaves his eyes fluttering as he leans into that touch. This time Garak stops right at the end of his neck appreciating the way that Julian has to force his eyes to remain open. Garak has his full attention tonight, not merely a dating subroutine running on autopilot. Garak then says playfully that he’s going to tell Julian a story of his own to see if his clever boy can guess which part of it is false. Of course the entire story start to finish of their trip on the shuttle to the station is a complete fabrication but there is a point where he recounts the doctor traveling with them where he deliberately allows his body language to slip just a bit, a looks of his eyes elsewhere and Julian spots it immediately. Nice, then he can be observant when called for.

 

And then just to throw him, he turns back to the matter of the puzzle. Garak calls Julian’s bluff declaring that he doesn’t believe there to be so readily some trap from which he cannot escape. Julian surprises him again.

“Oh you say that now but I’ve absolutely got you.” He rubs his hands together excited with a bounce in the seat. “You really had me earlier what with the finger trap and all. I still have no idea how you pulled that one off but… I guarantee you that I have a trick you absolutely won’t be able to puzzle out.” Garak raises a brow ridge leaning in. He places a hand over Julian’s, lightly stroking the back of his hand, see a little shiver in response.

“You have my complete attention, Julian.” He sees Julian breathe out slowly.

“Er God I don’t know how you make me feel so good with just your hands… not like that! I mean certainly like that I’m sure but-” Garak moves his hand, holding them both up.

“Is that better?” he teases as Julian already starts sliding out of the seat.

 

“Maybe. But you’re going to love this. Be amazed and delighted. You know when I was younger I thought it might be fun to do magic. Like you learn that all magic is really just tricks, sleight of hand, that sort of thing.” Julian has Garak come to the edge of the booth and cross his arms, feet flat on the floor facing out. “My cousin Alastair now  _ he _ could do some fantastic displays but now… Is it alright if I touch here?” Julian asks pointing to the center of his own forehead. Garak nods, wondering just what it is he’s going to do. And then Julian gives a devilish grin and places a finger right at the bottom of his  _ chufa.  _ “Now try and stand up,” Julian says looking utterly charming with that looks of self-assurance. 

 

Garak is certain he won’t be able to, thinking of the matter of leverage and balance and finds that assessment to be correct. He can’t stand even after gamely trying a few more times and failing.

“Is that good enough?” Julian asks teasing, just a hint of expectant desire for approval. 

“It’s sufficient,” he answers with a grin and Julian releases him sitting back down, proud,sitting up a bit straighter in his seat after that. 

 

Their food arrives and Garak rewards him by feeding him a sweet bite of char grilled  _ utoxa _ . Garak wouldn’t have ever thought such a manner of cooking for the usually tough meat himself, but the description of the tenderizing marinade was too good to pass up. Julian seems to agree, eyes shutting a moment as he eats with a happy sigh.

“You know,” he says as Garak enjoys a taste as well, “My father always used to get on me about eating too quickly and you know, not properly savoring a meal but well, my mother is a fantastic cook just ah… to her own tastes. That’s brilliant right there. So how do I earn a bit of that darker piece there?” So Garak asks him another question in exchange for another piece of meat, letting his fingers just brush Julian’s lips as he slips him those bites, seeing his face start to tint just a bit darker, eyes bright and eager. He loses track of the time that passes as they clear the two plates brought out. Garak breaks that tension up volunteering a few bits of information about himself- some true, some not, but that’s the fun of it, he’s always found. Especially when Julian calls him on an especially unbelievable story during his time as a gardener and Garak quite smugly lists off every night flowering plant native to the Elaran continent, reveling in Julian’s wide surprised eyes.

 

“Alright,” he concedes. “I really have no idea if half the words you’re saying are even true but we are playing a game, right… You know that’s what Kipling’s  _ Kim  _ was all about too- the Great Game they called it,” Julian says dramatically, a bit carried away but full of energy. Garak takes a drink of the wine recommended by the waitress finding it just suited for the Cardassian palette, she’s also ben keeping their water full rather unobtrusively as well. He makes a note to tip generously. 

“The Great Game?” 

 

“Well, it started as a matter of British and Russian Imperialism; a battle for the soul of India. But it’s rather like that. I mean- you could even say the battle for the soul of Bajor. Because of course Cardassia lost like Russia had all Bolshevik Revolution toppling the government and I mean the parallel is so  _ obvious _ …” Julian stops suddenly, looking like he wouldn’t mind the table up and swallowing him right about now. Garak recalls Ziyal telling him that Julian’s silly tactics stemmed primarily from a fear of giving offense and well, given the chaff that Garak has imagined him bedding before now it’s hardly an unfounded concern. It rankles him to think that such a delightful mind was so vapidly wasted on dull witted Guls all these years.

 

Garak is far from offended. Instead he laughs, taking Julian’s hands with a reassuring squeeze. He is looking forward to having many a fiery conversation in a more intimate setting where they might… converse more freely. Julian really does get so passionate and Garak finds himself already with a rejoinder to that little verbal challenge.

“I take no offense and in fact I should very much like to peruse the work you mention just to see these... parallels.” He sees Julian nearly sag in relief. “Now how about a little reward for being such a good boy,” he all but purrs leaning in to Julian’s soft protest that he’s done nothing to warrant a reward. 

 

“Let me worry about your worthiness for rewards, my dear,” Garak says keeping hold of Julian’s hands, leaning in and delicately scenting the air around him. His tongue pokes out but doesn’t touch, letting Julian feel the warmth of Garak’s breath on his neck. He can feel Julian squeezing his hands back tightly as he moves down to the little bit of exposed skin, scenting that heady Julian musk, feeling a few heavier breaths drifting down and to think that he would be so aroused by such simple things. Garak squeezes back before letting go.

 

“Now, take a breath, as many as you need and tell me something that you’d like to happen in the next five minutes.”

“Five minutes?” 

“Five minutes.”

“Alright I... if it’s not too forward, I’d very much like to kiss you.” Julian nearly looks away but holds Garak’s eyes when he makes that request. It’s a far restrained cry from the other evening but so achingly exciting nonetheless. It makes Garak bold and just a touch reckless. He’s silent a moment, watching Julian watch him back.

“Remember what I said earlier, Julian. Now then.” He pauses and lets his voice drop in cadence to a much lower, softer tone. “Put your hand on the table. Palm up.”

Julian looks at him a moment before obeying, letting his left hand rest on the tablecloth. 

“Good boy. Now look at me and don’t stop looking at me until I tell you to stop.”

 

“Okay,” Julian agrees and Garak doesn’t know what insanity is possessing him to ask so much, to push so far but... Guls he wants this so badly. Julian’s hazel eyes are dark as they watch him and he picks up the steak knife making sure that Julian can see it. There’s a slight dilation of pupils in response to that sight and Julian gives a start when the point of the blade brushes the juncture of his thumb and palm. There’s an averted jerk of his head to watch but he remains there, a lick of his lips, a dart of his tongue uncertain but obedient watching Garak. 

 

Garak watches him back as he slowly traces the tip of the blade over Julian’s palm- practiced enough, having read Julian’s slightly rough callouses to know just the right amount of pressure. It’s a tickle. He sees Julian’s breaths hitch as he lets the blade circle, skimming over skin, seeing Julian shift in the seat, the moment dragging out, his motions slowing down until the tip rests in the center of Julian’s palm and his lips are parted slightly, breaths coming heavier as Garak lets the tip push in infinitesimally as if he might dare to push it through the rest of the way. 

 

Garak knows when the skin will break but he doesn’t know when Julian will. Julian is silent, breathing harder, Garak scenting a slight increase in that heavy musk as he leans in closer, closer, letting up with the knife as his his lips meet Julian’s with that same delicate pressure, his tongue that experimental blade never breaking skin, flicked, gone, that press of mouths no more than a half a breath. He pulls back, feeling hot, feeling the swell of ridges around his neck somewhat embarrassed but doesn’t dwell on his own physiological reactions for long. Not when Julian is sitting there chest heaving, eyes half shut like he just climaxed. 

“Such a good boy,” he murmurs in praise, petting the back of Julian’s neck, his hair softly, watching his head lull boneless to that touch.

“Thank you... daddy...” slips out in an unconscious hush just barely caught by his ears. Garak decides right then they’re not finishing dinner.

 


	7. Bachelor's Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garak and Julian continue with heated flirting on the way back to Julian's quarter's and Ziyal and Mardah have their date.

Julian had imagined a bit of a different scenario when Garak had made the suggestion they take an early leave and have their entrees wrapped. Namely that there would be a messy dance from the Promenade to his quarters, full of torrid kisses, groping, and some stops along the way steamy enough to give cause to Odo for them to stop, clear his throat, and hurry them along with a stern lecture. That may have happened once or twice in the past if Julian’s being honest… maybe more than once or twice. He’d rather been looking forward to it as keyed up as he’d been through dinner. At first it was with an anxiety borne of nerves; he was so grateful to have had a second chance. But as their meal had gone on and he’d been teased and tormented with those smoldering looks and little butterfly touches he was about ready to go off.

 

Yet somehow Garak is still calm and serene as he handles the arrangements for the food and meal, daring nothing but a hand to the small of Julian’s back as they leave. His back - just his back - not even a playful grope or squeeze lower. Julian wonders if maybe that doesn’t say something about… well his character that it’s one of the things he’s been expecting and looking forward to. Oh that’s not to say that he’s not excited. If anything, Julian is more excited than he’s ever been in his life, letting that energy channel itself into an endless string of chatter during the walk back. Garak walks close to him, a little closer than the conventional standards of personal space would allow for. Julian dares a few discreet brushes to his leg as a hint. Garak smiles politely but gives a chastising tap to the back each time as he keeps walking.

 

Julian would be lying if he said it wasn’t starting to make him flustered as they reach the dark of the Turbolift. He damn sure doesn’t want to screw this up, and he isn’t sure what rules they’re still following. There’s an anxious shift from him as the lift door shuts, giving that illusion of privacy, Julian finding himself at an odd loss for words this entire time as he looks to Garak’s mouth - or rather tries not to, wondering if there isn’t some signal he might give that he’d very much like to kiss Garak again.  _ Really, Julian? You can’t wait? You don’t even have the discipline to keep your cool for a few more minutes? Isn’t this the sort of thing that turned him off before? Oh think, Julian, you know Cardassians, or rather you should. And at the heart of it, Garak isn’t behaving uncharacteristically human or anything. You can talk. God knows, everyone knows you can talk. _

 

Well there’s talk and there’s  _ conversation _ as one of his dates once said to him. He was younger (alright not terribly much younger but like is a journey, a million miles walked and he’s sure he’s grown a lot since then) then and he’s sure he knows how to  _ convers _ e rather than just talk at someone. He’s learned that after alienating nearly all the station those first few months, certain that he was going to get drummed unceremoniously back to Earth citing “irreconcilable differences” like a bad marriage: his aunt Millicent and her  _ rabbits _ could tell him all about that. But he learned, and he’s a bloody augment, so learning isn’t the issue it’s just-  _ Oh God, say something Julian! You’ve gone from companionable silence to awkward and he’s  _ _ looking _ _ at you so surely you ought to regale him with something! Ah, think think. _

 

So naturally he asks,

“Would you like to give Cindy a kiss?” and sort of wants to die on the spot when Garak gives a curious expression.

“Cindy?”

“She’s ah…”  _ Good one, Julian. Might as well seal the deal and offer to show him while you’re at it.  _ Well, there’s no walking it back, so Julian pastes on a smile he hope looks more seductive than sick. “She’s a friend of mine that I only introduce to someone I really fancy.” Was that terrible? Judging by the raise of a brow ridge that he receives in return, it absolutely is so Julian just drops it. “It’s a tattoo I got in college,” Julian explains before thinking of a game that Garak might find amusing. “The story of how I got her is a funny one but. But… I bet that  _ you _ can’t guess which one’s the truth,” he challenges, crossing his arms.

 

He can see Garak is intrigued, excited again, and Julian feels that heat between them resurge, greater than it had with just those touches and looks. So Julian clears his throat, remembering what he’s read in his beloved spy novels of perfect lies and physical tells, cheating a bit, to lock his face to the exact same expression, every muscle moving precisely the same as he begins with the stories, leaned back against the wall of the turbolift, eye contact steady. He thinks that Garak has such lovely eyes for the umpteenth time as the lift doors open and he finishes the final story with a little flourish, soaring again when Garak guides him off the lift with another hand to the small of his back.

 

“So,” Julian says, stopping them both in the dimly lit empty hall. He may bounce a little on the balls of his feet expectantly. He can’t help the smile as Garak pauses, eyes studying Julian’s throat thoughtfully.  _ I’ve got you, Mr. Garak. They’re all true, or none of them are true because I don’t remember a moment of that night so for all we both know they’re all lies. So whichever one you pick, it’s wrong.  _ Julian thinks he’ll ask Garak to kiss him again. Longer, deeper this time, Julian pinned up against the wall. He has to blink a few times, hoping he hadn’t missed anything while daydreaming. But no, Garak’s only now speaking, a tilt of his head as his eyes drag back up with a look that seems both amused and… proud?

 

“Could it be possible,” Garak says more thinking out loud as his eyes slip sideways, “that none of them are true?” he asks, eyes boring into Julian’s with an intensity that nearly makes Julian shiver. 

“Why would you ask that?” Julian answers that rhetorical question as Garak’s eyes are once more to his neck. “That… that wouldn’t be very sporting of me.”

“It wouldn’t. But it’s exactly as I would expect from a naughty boy, Julian. I expect these little games that require discipline.” Garak straightens Julian’s collar carefully, his knuckles brushing Julian’s skin. He feels feverish. He feels so hot in the hallway knowing that anyone could walk by.

 

“Isn’t that right, my dear?” Garak practically purrs. It’s ridiculous. Julian’s been caught out so many times in this hallway with another body covering his covetously, half fucking him against the wall. He shouldn’t feel so fluttery, so nervous when Garak’s left hand falls back to his side, the right following idly. Garak is standing so close to him, Julian swearing he can feel the rise and fall of Garak’s belly against his own, so close to touching but not quite, not quite. God he’s hard. Right here, it has to be obvious, he can feel his cock semi aroused, starting to press out against his boxers as he nods, agrees softly, shutting his eyes, thinking that he feels Garak’s fingers on his face, trace his lips, and he swallows or inhales or does both at the same time as he breathes out “yes yes”.

 

“Clever boy. You have such potential, Julian. I should think to test your potential a little more. Here’s your reward then. You may kiss me this time. Let your mouth convince me that I should let you do it again.” Garak’s voice is low, his ridges dark even in that light and Julian digs his nails into his palm to steady himself. His first impulse is to throw himself against Garak rubbing, whining, tongue bathing him, climbing him like a sturdy old oak. But he thinks better of it thinking of all these little steps, these lessons, knowing that Garak wants more from him than that. He also considers this like a riddle of some ancient guardian, wondering if he shouldn’t press his palm to Garak’s in an artfully perfected Cardassian meeting of palms. He dismisses that to but then thinks why shouldn’t it be the best of both?

 

His mouth and Garak’s palm.

 

That in mind, Julian holds up his left palm, seeing the flicker of disappointment over Garak’s face for the contrived gesture. But that’s when Julian curls his hand and brings the back of Garak’s hand to his mouth. He knows that Cardassians have certain sensitive spots, certain erogenous zones on the back of the hand if pressed properly. He also know the areas between the fingers are especially sensitive. Julian starts with the bank of Garak’s hand, a small, soft glide of his lips over the scales, knowing Cardassian skin lacks the small human hairs, loving the smoothness of the small infinitesimal scales to his lips, the tip of his nose brushing the bones, the faints scales around Garak’s wrist. Julian hears the hitch of breath and he can  _ feel _ Garak’s eyes on him as his tongue carefully pokes between each spread finger, pinky to index until he ends with the bit of skin connecting the thumb, a flick of tongue, a press of his head and a little nip.

 

Julian hears another stifled groan and god he’s so pleased with himself, so turned on, looking up to meet Garak’s heated look.

“Might I show you the way to my room now, daddy?” Julian asks, surprised at how unsteady his voice sounds when he speaks, his hand shaking as he releases Garak’s. He doesn’t know why he feels so light headed, so hot, so  _ floating _ this entire time, but he loves it. He adores it. He never wants it to end as Garak nods, another cup of his jaw as if he might  _ kiss _ him kiss him. Garak’s thumb flicks over his mouth and he nearly cries, nearly faints as his perfect vision blurs. 

“By all means, my dear, show daddy your room.”   
  


\---

 

“You bowl like Kai Winn!” Mardah howls as Ziyal watches the bowling ball slowly rolling down the alley hitting two pins down on the left. She smiles, proud that she was able to actually get two this time. The boxes next to her name are a pretty sad array of 0s to Mardah’s strikes and spares. She’s been trying to roll the weighted ball the way Mardah keeps telling her but she’s terrified that her fingers are going to get stuck in the holes. That may have happened the first time nearly sending her down the alley with it when she had her first go. Since then she’s been using a rather embarrassing two handed roll that hasn’t exactly been working either. Ziyal ducks her head a bit embarrassed as a Bajoran couple turns at the teasing, look at each other, then start laughing. Ziyal has no idea who or what a “Kai Winn” is but she seems to have developed a rather large reputation around the station. 

 

Mardah has regaled her with any number of riotous anecdotes involving this woman since they met up at the entrance to the bowling alley. She usually ends with a conspiratorial look around following and usually other younger Bajorans will join in with a story of their own. So far tonight, Ziyal has heard the story of how Kai Winn was caught “betting on underground vole fights” or was overheard “humming some old bawdy Tellerite songs during silent meditation at service”, and numerous other strange transgressions that hardly seem capable to all be performed by one singular individual. Ziyal had finally whispered to Mardah as that this Kai Winn must be some incredible and fascinating figure to have so many stories attributed to her. That was when Mardah sheepishly told her that it had become customary over the years amongst the station’s youth to try and one up each other with odd exaggerated tales of Kai Winn’s imaginary exploits.

 

Ziyal supposed she would never understand Bajoran humor but then again, her yad’ would likely find a game amusing as well. She wasn’t sure that she believed all of the stories that he’d told her over the years about Skrain Dukat when the two of them had been acquainted. Ziyal had even overheard her yad’s friend Parmak telling him over kanar that Skrain Dukat was once taken to the emergency room to have a regnar pulled out of his  _ ajan _ . She’d asked about it later and it was one of the few times she’d seen her yad’ almost choke on a drink.

 

“Alright then, why don’t you show me what I’m doing wrong already?” she asks with a little huff. It’s her second chance to hit more than two pins and Mardah takes pity on her as she gets out of her seat with a beautiful smile.

“Okay, okay, you look so cute though throwing it like that with both hands maybe I couldn’t help myself.” Ziyah thinks that Mardah really has a nice smile as she stands next to her in a stunning dark purple tunic. Her hair is pulled back and she has such fascinating tanned Bajoran skin. 

 

Ziyal thought she was going to jump up in the air when she met Mardah at the entrance and tentatively allowed a brief warm hug.

 

“So I know you’re worried about the ball catching your fingernails but it won’t. But they have a few balls up there with handles designed for claws that we can get.” It’s a nice thought, and surely Ziyal can see where it would be useful but that prideful part of her is mortified at the thought. A special accommodation? Oh no... no she’s perfectly capable of handling the ball herself and she promises silently right there no matter how foolish she may look she’s using the same ball the Bajorans are.

 

“Thank you, I think it’s just nerves. Am I holding it right?” She asks carefully putting her fingers back in the holes, telling herself not to panic at the tight suction.

“Right, got it. Maybe a little like is it okay if I make a few adjustments on you?” Mardah asks getting closer. Mardah smells really sweet and Ziyal scents the air just a little tasting honey and wow, Mardah’s hands are over hers, showing her how to adjust the position of her arm and maybe her heart picks up just a little at that touch while she chastises herself for being completely ridiculous.

 

They’d exchanged blows, throws, they even worked on basic grappling under Major Kira’s instruction and she hadn’t felt anything like this. Well, alright, that was a different environment and Mardah wasn’t wearing that nice perfume, and wasn’t holding her hands like this, and Ziyal is sure she isn’t hearing anything that’s being said right now as Mardah guides her hands to throw the ball. She really does almost hurl the thing too, overcorrecting, feeling electric current on her arms as Mardah runs fingers lightly over the tattoo that she has of the delicate Edossian orchids.

 

“I didn’t really get a chance to look up close earlier, but I love this. It looks so real,” Mardah says and Ziyal thinks there’s some loud pin knocking noise in the background but she’s kind of dumbly just looking at Mardah’s face really closely. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Cardassian with a…”

“Tattoo?”

“Is that what it’s called?”

“I… I think it’s a borrowed standard word actually. We call it something different but it’s similar it’s um…”

 

“Hey, you got a spare!” Mardah says, attention diverted as the two girls turn to see the pins and the next frame setting up. It may be undignified, but Ziyal jumps in the air excited.

“I did!” she exclaims, taking Mardah’s hands in hers, only to realize a moment later exactly what she’s doing. She lets go, only to find that Mardah’s grip lingers. “I’m sorry I’d gotten carried with myself, I really didn’t mean to be so vulgar.”

“Vulgar?” Mardah asks looking confused. “I don’t even think Kai Winn would complain about a little hand holding.”

“Oh, oh right or course,” Ziyal agrees, feeling foolish, taking a few steps back as she grabs a self conscious drink. “I really should know better, that Bajorans do things differently and not think that Cardassian culture is the center of the universe. Yad’s’ friend Doctor Parmak is always saying things like that and I’d do well to listen.

 

“That’s really interesting though,” Mardah says, standing next to her, definitely very- oh very close, stealing a friend potato stick from the table around her. “It’s like how the Tube grubs will wiggle like this to attract a mate,” she demonstrates a comical back and forth motion like a plant leaning towards sunlight, “but you know a gree worm would consider that threatening.” Ziyal laughs, feeling relaxed. Mardah had told her a few stories of some of the insects she’d collected as a child and named, fascinated by the creatures. Ziyal had opened her mouth a few times to contribute her own knowledge, each time having to remind herself that yad’ was nothing more than a tailor, and he certainly wouldn’t know that Elaran weaver venom could be useful in a pinch to feign a comatose state.

 

“So, am I a gree worm, or a tube grub?” Ziyal asks bravely, finding confidence when she realizes that Mardah still isn’t moving away. Mardah smiles wider, grabbing another stick- a french fry, Ziyal reminds herself. Ziyal found the savory and crunchy sticks to be addictive, eating them until the corners of her mouth started stinging from the salt. Mardah looks thoughtful, both of them ignoring the balls resting lazily next to each other from the return. Ziyal is determined not to look away maybe spending a moment too long on Mardah’s chewing mouth. She wonders if it’s weird that she wants to lick the little salt crystals from those pretty pink lips. Daydreaming, she’s nearly caught out when Mardah finally answers her thoughtfully.

“You’re definitely a peak moth.”

“I’m… a what?” Ziyal asks confused, that moment broken just a bit. A moth? Are those considered a good or a bad omen on Bajor? Mardah quickly continues.

 

“The peak moth starts out as a caterpillar, but they’re called peak moths because they spend days climbing to the highest part of the tree to build their cocoons, avoiding the birds and other animals that try to eat them. So they’re determined, they’re brightly colored and very friendly if you give them something salty sweet.” Ziyal feels her ridges flushing pleased, also a little embarrassed when Mardah takes her hand and gives a squeeze that definitely starts sending her heart rocketing to the top of the highest tree. “And they’re brilliant navigators. They’re one of the few moth species on bajor that aren’t confused by our artificial lights. You’ll never see one circling around a street lamp like the rest, they’ll go right by, only for the moon, only for her goal.”

“Oh,” Ziyal breathes, knowing that Mardah won’t quite understand the significant of the gesture, but nonetheless turning her hand to that their palms press together just a little. Mardah’s fingers, sweaty and greasy they are, tease at hers feeling like the best thing ever. 

She isn’t sure what she’s trying to say, not having the mastery of flattery and verbosity that her yad’ does.

“I… like your hand,” she says, continuing almost foolishly, she thinks, “I… I bet you get a lot of moths coming to your hand. I mean, you’re like the moon. You’re bright but not too bright and you have a nice hand that I think a moth would really like to rest on if it was tired. And… and you’d be so kind to a little moth ah…” Ziyal trails off knowing she’s babbling, knowing that the man called “father” would say that Cardassians are forceful, they don’t duck their heads for Bajorans, that they’re a proud people. But Ziyal isn’t so proud that Mardah’s threading their fingers doesn’t make her sing inside. 

 

“Moths are my favorite creature to study,” Mardah whispers, a sentence that shouldn’t require such clandestine action but, Ziyal follows suit. 

“Would you let a moth draw you?” she asks. That wasn’t what she wanted to ask but it’s what comes out and her stupid hand is sweating because of course Cardassians don’t sweat but Ziyal is something in between and ah… Mardah doesn’t seem bothered when she nods, her nose giving a little wrinkle.

“Absolutely.” Both of them are ignoring the din of conversation around them from the other bowlers until they both hear a yell from the back that they should at least have the good manners to finish their set before making eyes at each other. 

 

“You know I’m going to lose,” Ziyal offers lamely, with a reluctant lowering of her hand. She also doesn’t think that she can return back to her quarters if her yad’ and Doctor Bashir are there. Of course he left an hour before she did so surely they’d be finished… by now? Or they may have returned to Doctor Bashir’s quarters? That would make more sense but if he thought he’d have time. Guls, if only there was some way to find out! “I’m just, not sure where else we might go if my yad’ and Doctor Bashir are...” Ziyal trails off, catching a wicked grin on Mardah’s face. “What? Is there something on my face?” She reaches up, patting and rubbing at her mouth. Mardah shakes her head, that gleam still there, making Ziyal feel a rush of anticipation.

 

“I’ve got something in my room,” she says, holding up a hand just as Ziyal  _ feels _ her eyes getting bigger- is she's suggesting? “Chief O’Brien one year, thought he’d help Mrs. O’Brien with the school, so he showed one of her classes how to design bots, like these little drones that could perform simple tasks. Well, it didn't go very well when some of them designed these little spy bots that looked like insects and started spying on people." Mardah looks around like someone might be listening, her expression reminding Ziyal a moment of her yad' which is both kind of weird but familiar at the same time. "Odo confiscated them but... Sela kept one and gave it to me for my birthday so I have a little fly in my room."

"Oh! So-"

"You want to take him for a spin? That's Federation slang which is to drive something. Jake taught me that one."

 

"He seems nice," Ziyal offers diplomatically, hoping all of this wasn’t just in her head.

“He’s a good guy, a good friend,” Mardah agrees, and is she emphasizing “friend”? Maybe? Possibly? Mardah grabs another french fry already in motions before pausing. “Have you ever had a milkshake?” she asks, Ziyal shaking her head no. Her yad’ has some strong opinions on the matter of drinking certain mammalian secretions as he says with a shudder but he’s not here to commentate, and everything else has been wonderful so-

“To go?” Ziyal asks hopefully. “My treat?” Mardah nods, a warm clasp to her shoulder, Ziyal just inwardly singing. 

“Oh you  _ know _ the way to a girl’s heart, Zi.” Really? Oh oh she’ll take that absolutely. “C’mon, I’ll show you the way!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's funny is that we're at the end of the Tumblr updates but since this was next on the list, the next chapter won't have a month long wait haha so look for it in the next few days :D


	8. Calamity Jane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ziyal and Mardah bond while spying on Garak and Julian and things get heated back in Julian's quarters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy coincidence that the Tumblr move here finished just as I completed Chapter 8. From here it may be awhile since I have to update all the other stories ongoing haha but I hope everyone enjoys this next chapter :)

Ziyal has never sat on the floor in front of a dining table before but it’s exciting. Or it’s equally possible that her excitement is due to Mardah’s close proximity. Well, maybe a touch of that combined with the view on the small screen set on the table in front of them. Ziyal leans in from where she’s kneeling and takes a long sip of the [now slightly watery] milkshake with a happy sigh as the darkened view changes again. Mardah swears that the chocolate peanut butter is the best thing the Prophets ever introduced to the Alpha Quadrant, but she said that one could never go wrong with vanilla for a “beginner”. Ziyal had wrinkled her nose that the sound of “beginner” but Mardah’s teasing little grin really would have had her agreeing to anything.

 

The low coffee table and floor seating, Mardah had explained as the two of them entered the shared quarters, was thanks to Chief O’Brien. When they had finally been assigned a shared room outside of the bunks the newer dabo girls were assigned to, Mardah and her roommate Evie were also entitled per Federation regulations to furniture. It was easy to select the basics, the bed and the sofa from the replicator but when it came to the matter of the dining room set for eating that had turned into a long standoff with Evie insisting there where  _ she _ came from chairs with back were considered bad luck and they only sat on stools. 

 

Mardah had bit her tongue on the superstition that her mother swore rose out of necessity for those on less fortunate continents during the Occupation and in the end it was Chief O’Brien who pointed out (as he bemoaned them holding up the line] that there were some Earth cultures who found it preferable to have a minimalist approach and sit on the floor. Both girls liked the idea and it was much easier for the aspiring dancer Evie to move the table when she wanted to use the floor space to practice. Ziyal hoped she didn’t sound too forward when asking if Evie was there too, but Mardah merely grinned with a shake of her head explaining that Evie switched shifts with her just so she could go on their date.

 

Well, Ziyal decided, whoever this “Evie” according to proper behavior was also accorded a small gift of thanks. Did Bajorans do that? She wasn’t sure how to ask. Was she supposed to know things like that? She remembers once overhearing an argument between her yad’ and “Father” when she had begun training. Dukat was insistent that Bajorans were too fragile for such things, needed a firm but  _ delicate _ touch, and that such rough handling would break her and she’d been so proud when her yad’ had defended the Cardassian side of her, had said she was far stronger than a mere Bajoran and that Dukat was doing her a disservice in underestimating her. She felt so proud then but over the last few years, over this trip she hasn’t been sure how to feel about such sentiments.

 

_ You would never call Major Kira “fragile”. You wouldn’t say that about Mardah as many times as she’s put you on your ass.  _ She wonders if her yad’ wouldn’t be happier if she was all Cardassian, a true daughter of Cardassia, but he’s also said that such sentiments were the fallback of those without the wit or capability to be carried by anything other than their race and… and she doesn’t know what to think. He’s also said so many times that no matter who she chose to pursue if they didn’t accept both sides of her heritage they weren’t worthy.

 

Worthy is such a complicated and awful word.

 

But Mardah had only seemed amused by the idea of giving Evie a gift saying that there wasn’t anything a “mere mortal” could give Evie that Sidel Adan hadn’t. Sidel Adan was Evie’s much older lover on Bajor, an esteemed historical scholar who Evie had met while he was passing through Quark’s, and even without the oppressive caste system (Caste system?) the talk surrounding the two would be absolutely scandalous should their relationship ever become public. Mardah concluded that tale with a sigh saying that Jake would call it “completely Shakespearean” and Ziyal felt her head swimming as she nodded politely.  _ “Oh, but enough about Evie,” _ Mardah had declared as she told Ziyal she could take her shoes off and make herself at home.  _ “You and I have a date with some serious information gathering.” _

 

Spying on her yad’ as an integral part of a first date was something that she surely thought he would approve of.

 

Mardah had proudly displayed the long segmented insect that she called BOB as she say him down along with a small remote and a small screen. The original concept was Sela’s but he’d asked Mardah’s help for accuracy with the anatomy and the motion for hyper realism. Mardah wasn’t the artist that Sela was, but she had worked hard to help him get just the proper feel of the thousand legged crawler that could often be found in caves further south.  _ “Caves and space stations,”  _ Mardah said with that same mischievous expression as she explained how he worked and how she’d even come to learn the paths around the ducts of the station. It was essential to avoid voles, though she and Sela may have also programmed BOB to give a small electric “sting” as an emergency measure.

 

Ziyal watches fascinated, letting their shoulders bump a bit, shivering with that contact, though that prompts Mardah to give a small apology and turn the heat up. Well, Ziyal appreciates the gesture even if it means the milkshake melts faster.

“We’ll just have to drink it faster then, won’t we,” she finds herself saying, the two girls leaning in tandem with the long straws just far enough apart to keep their faces from touching. Ziyal wonders if Mardah’s lips would be cold, wonders why a cold kiss would feel like and realizes that she may be staring a bit before quickly turning back to the screen. Guls, Mardah is cute and the heat doesn’t seem to be bothering her either.

 

Not like that anyway as Ziyal thinks she catches Mardah looking at her too from so close until a sudden beep makes them both look at the screen, controlling BOB away from the proximity warning.

“You’re so good at that!” Ziyal says admiring. “How does he know exactly where Doctor Bashir’s quarters are?” She doesn’t think much of the question until she sees Mardah rubbing at the tip of her nose looking away and up a moment.

  
  


“Well he ah… So I didn’t tell you this, and you have to absolutely swear to never tell Evie I’m telling you this but well… Evie’s Sid and Doctor Bashir really could be twins. And so it was just… it was late and we’d both gotten off a long shift. There was this group of visitors to the station called the Wadi who were really into games and Quark had wanted us to keep them entertained and some of them felt more at ease when we were drinking with them which we don’t normally do but they tipped so well so… so we thought maybe we could just check to see if Doctor Bashir had the same birthmark.”

“And did he?”

“No but…” Mardah laughs softly and shakes her head, covering her mouth as she laughs harder. “He really… really does have no butt, either…” she laughs before explaining the joke as Jake had told it to her when he was teaching her Federation Standard.

 

Ziyal laughs, swearing she’s never going to be able to look Doctor Bashir in the eyes ever again as Mardah continues So Mardah is such a fantastic story teller, shooting little looks over to Ziyal as she steers BOB and insists Ziyal finish the shake which she does with gusto and- “If you wanted to share the last little bit do you think I could…”

“Could…” Ziyal trails off, heart beating faster as Mardah leans in a little closer. “Oh yes please!” she rushes out sounding so eager but she’s never understood Cardassian courtship customs of endless snipping when two people were really gone on each other. Uncle Kelas had said the same the one night he’d dialed in and her yad’ wasn’t home and he finally decided that she was old enough at twenty to hear all about “Pythas Lok and his ridiculous notion of proper handplay”. 

 

“Yes please,” she repeats as Mardah gives just a little small lick to her lips and then asks if she might kiss her which dumbly has Ziyal whispering “oh yes yes, raising her right hand only to find Mardah brushing the tip of her nose against Ziyal’s. That’s… different, she thinks, not sure exactly what’s so exciting about rubbing noses until the ridges brush at the sides and she feels warm and nice and so maybe they could marry the two customs, she thinks as Mardah’s head turns. Ziyal blindly seeks out her hand, taking it gently, not sure how sensitive Bajoran wrists are, remembering a trick that Uncle Kelas said was always appreciated which was a soft drag of the thumbnail down the pulse of the wrist, down the forearm and Mardah stops with a gasp, Ziyal feeling her weight settle closer, lips pressed to the side of her face making her delirious, about to close her eyes when BOB beeps again and Mardah turns like she’d just awoken from a dream to look at the screen.

 

“Evie may have had me program the coordinates,” she mumbles and Ziyal raises a brow ridge with a tease of 

“Evie did, huh?”

“May the Prophets curse me if I’m lying,” Mardah says drawing herself up with a little rustle of her shoulders and Ziyal thinks she has the nicest bare shoulders. She has the nicest neck too that must taste like sweet fruit and right, they’re supposed to be checking in on her yad’ and Doctor Bashir just as a… precaution so she should be paying more attention to the screen as BOB slowly snakes out of a duct, camera bringing the living room into focus. Ziyal sees her yad’ on the sofa, feeling a touch of disappointment watching Doctor Bashir running around… picking up clothes. She sighs thinking if this is the sort of “kink” he’s into, no wonder he never bothers sharing the “juicy details”. “Some date,” Mardah also comments though both girls turn to look at each other when they hear the “daddy” from Doctor Bashir.

 

“Daddy?” They mouth in tandem though the morphemes are different for their respective languages. Ziyal remembers her yad’ always telling her not to seek information she isn’t prepared to hear thinking that she really should’ve taken the lesson to heart. But it’s also… funny, she thinks as Mardah cracks a smile. Really funny, actually, both of them giggling softly before Ziyal shakes her head and Mardah declares that they can send BOB home and spare his “innocent eyes”. 

“Does he know the way home too?” Ziyal asks, exhilarated and breathless, seeing the curve of Mardah’s mouth wondering if she’ll still taste like milkshake too. Her hand rests on the Bajoran girl’s meaningfully she hopes, and Mardah flicks a switch, in response.

 

“I think BOB will be just fine on his own.” 

 

\---

 

The first thing that Garak thinks when they enter Julian’s quarters is that if their positions were reversed,  _ he _ wouldn’t be so eager to ask company back to wade amongst a cemetary of fabric markers celebrating every unfortunate fashion choice that had gone to die. The second thing that he thinks as Julian sweeps past him to carelessly push a few shirts off the sofa is that this is absolutely an opportunity. He keeps that to himself though, careful not to let any of that show on his face as Julian gives the most absent apology for the mess imaginable.  _ Then again, I don’t imagine his previous company to have had much care for his lack of housekeeping skills. Oh, you certainly have your work cut out for you with this one, Elim. _

 

Well, as Tain once said, he did always enjoy his work a little too much.

 

“Can I get you a drink?” Julian asks motioning for him to take a seat, already setting the temperature controls higher. Oh Julian is about to work up a sweat alright, Garak thinks as he sits politely, though hardly in the way that he thinks.

“I can’t imagine you have any decent kanar?” he asks hopefully, only imagining the swill that Julian’s acquired for his previous company. He’s had the misfortune of imbibing what most military men consider “a fine vintage” in the past, and doesn’t particularly intend to choke down an inferior beverage for the sake of being polite. But he’s pleasantly surprised when Julian holds up a nice decanter of a thick golden vintage which absolutely has to come from Morfan and he smiles.

 

“This decent enough?” Julian asks, coming over with two glasses, looking almost bemused at the clothing covered coffee table before sweeping the contents carelessly on the floor. 

“My, how thoughtful,” Garak murmurs, watching the slow pour having just a momentary flash of Parmak’s “Nokaran Home Brew” that he swears nearly made Pythas Lok go blind when he drank it on a dare. Garak still isn’t convinced that bottled poison isn’t half the reason for his old friend’s poor eyesight.

“Well, I may not always hit it out of the park, but I have it on good authority that this is one of the better vintages.” 

 

Julian takes a seat next to Garak, a leg under him with a hopeful little smile as his eyes rather obviously track to Garak’s mouth. 

“That starting to make up for my “bad behavior” earlier?” he asks with a tease in his voice and there’s that subtle slide into routine again. Oh, But Julian has already let him glimpse the absolutely charming boy that he can be should Garak want to take the time and break him of these unfortunate habits. And Garak is nothing if not up for a challenge. 

“So eager to begin discussing the terms of your punishment already, my dear?” Garak asks, wrapping a hand around Julian’s on the glass before he can take a drink.

 

He’s glad he does, because he feels Julian’s grip loosen. Now that would’ve been a shame for the doctor to spill such a fine kanar all over the sofa. Garak notes the catch of his breath and the way the skin of his neck begins to glisten the longer they sit in the heated temperature of the room. 

“Been thinking a lot on that have you?” Julian asks this time more exhilarated than coy and Garak smiles wide, surely imagining the lurid visions in that youthful lusty mind. 

“Perhaps a little,” Garak teases with a slow circle of his thumb over the back of Julian’s hand. He guides him to set the glass down on the table before it spills.

“O-oh?” voice rising an octave and Garak really shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as he is.

 

“In fact ever since we entered your quarters, I’ve had the most delightful vision of you…” he drops his voice leaning in, feeling a quiver, still holding Julian’s hand “...bent over…”

“Oh…” tensing of muscles, lick of lips and Guls, Garak is hardly unaffected by that soft looking wet mouth but if he’s learned nothing over the years, it’s that the nectar is always much sweeter if the fruit is allowed to ripen to its full sweetness no matter how hungry one is, no matter how much one longs to sink his teeth in.

“...cleaning up this mess,” Garak finishes letting go of Julian’s hand, watching him blink, a little confused furrow of his brow while Garak takes a slow languid drink of the warm honey slipping down his throat.

 

“I… er… what?” Garak sees Julian’s eyes sweeping around his room and he does have the decency to look embarrassed at least.

“Surely you don’t think that this is acceptable?” Garak asks softly, no longer playful. He watches Julian squirm, a hand on the back of his neck as he gives another look, another naughty little boy smile.

“Right, not my best look but we could… go to your quarters if it’s bothering you?” Garak takes another drink, raising a brow ridge. He sits back, crossing a leg, the polished leather of his boot on display and he doesn’t miss the flick of Julian’s eyes there as he says more forcefully,

“I would like you to clean your room, Julian.”

 

There’s a skip, a moment where Julian looks about to protest before his face darkens just a bit and he tugs at the collar of his shirt. Now that’s something nice to keep in mind, Garak thinks as Julian wipes sweaty palms on his pant legs before standing up.

“You’d… like me to clean my room… daddy?” Julian asks, barely loud enough to be heard.

“I should hope that I don’t need to repeat myself,” Garak says with just a touch of dramatic darkness, watching Julian’s eyes go wide, pupils flicker flare a little and he feels a shiver up his own spine with Julian wets his lips, runs fingers through his hair left hand right hand one after the other lingering on the back of his neck before nodding and giving a soft, “yes daddy”.

 

“Good boy,” Garak says watching Julian languidly bending over to grab the first shirt at his feet, “and please be quick about it.” Because while he is absolutely enjoying the performance, he has other ideas in mind for the evening that don’t require twenty minutes of Julian wiggling around the room.

“Of course,” he answers with a little smirk. “Computer, play Industrial Serenade four,” which Julian explains is from a newer Earth composer influenced by some incidental contact with Cardassians in the badlands. The tones are low, slow but sultry even as the reverb gives a pleasant rumble to the room, and Garak is prepared for a bit of thrilling naughtiness. 

 

Instead, he finds (maybe just a little to his disappointment) that Julian does quickly retrieve shirts, pants, ties, though he certainly gives a nice display of crawling on his hands and knees under the dining room table for a pair of discarded boots that look thigh high which gives Garak some  _ ideas _ for those long slim legs. Julian also softly explains the composer’s experience on the front, on both sides oddly enough, the Trill Lyone Grisha having made acquaintances on both sides. That explains the unique percussion, though Garak is hardly an expert in musical theory. Julian goes on to tell him that a science officer on station, a woman that Garak is sure he’s seen around named Jadzia Dax had given it to him and he’s certain the two of them will get swimmingly. Garak doesn’t know what swimming has to do with it but smiles politely as he drinks.

 

“Well aren’t you thoughtful, “ Garak says approving, warmed with more kanar coating his throat, the buzz pleasant and soft, Julian especially so when sweating from all the movement he undoes the remaining buttons on that shirt revealing a white undershirt underneath clinging to his slender frame sticky sweat wet. Garak may just decide then to give a subtle scenting of the air when Julian turns around  _ tasting _ that very human very male musk thick and heavy on his tongue nearly making him groan out loud. He can detect the heavy breaths and he’s certain they’re nothing if not a touch put on because he knows the limits of his own hearing and the amount of exertion put forth by the average human male of Julian’s age and it shouldn’t be quite so… heavy.

 

Unless of course this is arousing him which it doesn’t seem to be from a cursory visual inspection as Julian returns from his room, the last few neatly folded garments put back (likely stuffed into a drawer of closet if Garak was a betting man but he’s hardly playing that seriously). But is he going to believe his lying eyes or his trusted tongue?

“Are we finished now?” Garak inquires not seeing anything left to pick up. Julian’s hot sticky body, his pheromones, his slim hips are tempting him terribly and he’d very much like to feel that weight settle on his lap and-

“Not quite,” Julian says with a devilish glint coming into his eyes that Garak is fast learning means that something exciting and very  _ naughty _ is coming up. “You wanted me to clean my room, daddy,” Julian says a knees on the couch, right up against Garak’s thigh. “And I’m afraid I may have shoved a few garments into the couch cushions.” 

 

He looks the most thoroughly unapologetic apologetic that Garak could ever picture on a face as he leans in, body pressed to Garak’s (thank the Ancients the fabric is treated so the sweat won’t stain!) as his hand slips out of sight, the rustle of shirt fabric however telling Garak that Julian  _ isn’t  _ pulling anything from the couch but somewhere else on his person. Oh how very very naughty of him as he reaches again, another slow undulation against Garak as Julian urges his crossed leg down and straddles his thigh, reaching with a hot breath to Garak’s neck whispering  _ “just hold still, daddy,” _ as he pulls out a sock, surely from his rolled shirt sleeve, Garak’s eyes fluttering as he feels his grip on the empty glass falter a moment. 

 

_ “Right, just like that…”  _ with a slick motion to the other side, straddling his other knee, now on his left, reaching, pressing,  _ breathing _ and guls, Garak swears Julian sounds like he’s about to come just from the what have become not at all subtle pushes to Garak’s hip, cock swelling hard, making Garak breathe out slowly, steady, catching a glimpse of another sock - black this time - make its way to Julian’s hand as he “slips” so contrived, so good, such a press of Julian’s head to his shoulder as he bounces a little, steadying himself, heat between Julian’s thighs on either side of Garak’s and it’s only with monumental control that Garak keeps his hands where they are instead of cupping Julians ass and biting that delectable neck.  _ “Finished daddy?” _ comes out more like a question and Garak is about to answer in the affirmative when he sees it.

 

The biggest Guls damn thousand legged Bajoran monster that Garak has ever seen in his life is crawling across the coffee table.

 

Garak glimpses it over Julian’s shoulder, actually feeling his eyes widen surely big enough to pop out of his own head. He thinks he may have screamed after that. He thinks he may have shoved Julian off of him. There’s a bit of a gap in that portion of his memory (surely only a trauma of the utmost psychological scarring could cause such a thing in a highly trained Cardassian mind) and the only thing he is aware of is leaping onto the sofa, throwing himself back against the wall, and demanding to know in the name of all the Ancients how Julian could keep his hovel in such a state as to attract mean eating pests.

 

He sees Julian looking up at him from the floor, confused.

“Infestation? Garak what on Earth are you talking about?” His eyes track to where Garak’s trembling hand is pointing and Garak may take a step or two shifting from one foot to another just in case that thing… just in case of something as Julian turns and blinks as if he isn’t about to be violently assaulted by the nightmare creature his poor housekeeping habits has birthed into existence.

“Oh er… that’s ah…” That’s not nearly reacting strongly enough! “Not a… “nightmare creature” or anything-” Is the doctor a mind reader? Did he scream that out loud? Was his voice always this high pitched?

 

And why is Julian laughing?

 

“That’s BOB,” Julian says look up, getting on his knees, that laughter only growing louder as Garak squints, sure that the picture he makes right now is hardly dignified but- “The kids made these em… robot spy things in Keiko’s class when Miles was helping out. Can’t say I didn’t see something like this happening but… This was Sela’s. Mardah helped him with the articulation but I can’t imagine what he’s doing in here…” Mardah… Mardah! Garak thinks as his feet finally stop moving on their own, stilling as the Thing continues a slow crawl down and across the floor, Julian giving a cautious crawling chase like a little four legged creature. Mardah is Ziyal’s date and Garak finds himself both appalled and proud of such an underhanded scheme.

 

“Alright, come on you little rascal,” he hears Julian say as his dignity takes a nose dive off the couch while Julian reaches out muttering about “kids not knowing to respect their elders’ privacy”, and Garak thinks cynically, right, “kids”. Perhaps once his pulse returns to normal and Julian shoves that Thing in a box they can- Garak tables that thought as Julian makes contact with the “little bugger” as he calls it and promptly seems to be jolted back onto the floor, the machine overloading and bursting into a small fire from there while Julian lays convulsing on the ground. “M’f-fine,” Julian stammers as Garak approaches and kneels down next to him with a sigh. “Th-think you might… put the fire out..?” he asks with a roll of his eyes before passing out.

 

Already done, Garak thinks sourly before the computer’s sprinklers active, soaking them both.

 

Already done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm gonna have to duck some rotten tomatoes >_>

**Author's Note:**

> I'll try and be quick with updates insofar as the parts of the story already posted to Tumblr, but I like to polish and make additions when adding here so there may still be some delay.


End file.
